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LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

OF  THE 

ROCKY  MOUNTAINS 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

OF  THE 

ROCKY  MOUNTAINS 


BY 

EDMUND  DEACON  PETERSON 


NEW  YORK 

THE  COSMOPOLITAN  PRESS 

1912 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
EDMUND  DEACON  PETERSON 


DEDICATED  TO 

ARTHUR  AND  GEORGIE 


2^5t^90 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface 9 

Introduction 11 

CHAPTER 

I.     The    First   Night's  Yarns 15 

II.     The  Second  Night's  Yarns 39 

III.  Which    Details   the    Doings   of    the    Third 

Night,  Which,  Because  It  is  Sunday-, 
They  Devote  to  Letter-Writing,  and  no 
Stories  are  Told 142 

IV.  Conclusion 146 


PREFACE 

These  little  stories  of  Colorado,  embody- 
ing the  writer's  Western  experiences  of 
twenty-odd  years  ago,  were  first  and  fore- 
most a  labor  of  love. 

When  the  writer  was  a  young  man,  it 
should  be  explained  (though  doubtless  it 
would  seem  to  many  people  much  like 
^^Rasselas"  and  his  ^'Happy  Valley"  over 
again,  that  either  he  or  they  should  any  of 
them  ever  wish  to  leave  beautiful  old  Ger- 
mantown  at  all),  he  with  several  of  his 
boon-companions  all  got  the  ^Western- 
fever"  together.  To  follow  in  their  fa- 
thers' and  grandfathers'  footsteps — as  is  the 
good  old  Philadelphia  custom — and  be- 
come Philadelphia  business  men,  made  its 
appeal  in  vain  to  these  young  hopefuls,  and 
they  did  not  rest  till,  one  by  one,  as  oppor- 
tunity came,  each  put  his  rosy  Argonautic 
dream  to  the  hard  test  of  reality. 

9 


16  PREFACE 

These  ^'Yarns,"  the  writer  wishes  to  say, 
moreover,  though  all  founded  on  fact,  make 
no  pretense  whatever  of  being  strictly  ac- 
curate descriptions  of  actual  persons  and 
actual  happenings,  his  sole  aim  and  effort 
being  to  make  his  delineation  of  persons  and 
events  true  to  the  Colorado  life  of  that  time. 

And  it  is  his  hope  that  he  may  have  at 
least  some  modicum  of  success  in  his  effort 
to  pass  on  to  the  reader  that  refreshment  and 
rejuvenation  which  he  himself  felt  in  thus 
living  his  Western  life  over  again. 

For  his  figures  for  heights  of  mountains, 
distances,    etc.,    the    author   wishes    to    ac- 
knowledge here  with  thanks  his  indebted- 
ness to  the  Encyclopedia  Americana. 
Very  sincerely, 

The  Author. 

Philadelphia^  Pa.,  August,  igi2. 


INTRODUCTION 

The  log-cabin  to  which  the  reader  is  here 
introduced  was  built  upon  its  quarter-sec- 
tion of  land  near  the  foot  of  Long's  Peak/ 
Colorado,  on  the  banks  of  the  North  St. 
Vrain,  by  an  ex-Captain  in  the  U.  S.  Army 
whom  we  shall  call  Cap.*^  White;  which 
quarter-section  had  been  presented  to  the 
said  officer  by  Uncle  Sam  at  the  close  of 
the  Civil  War,  and  the  gallant  Captain 
had  used  it  for  a  number  of  years  as  a  cattle- 
ranch. 

In  1882,  when  a  young  man,  the  writer 
lived  for  about  a  month  in  this  log-cabin 
— hunting    and    fishing,    riding    down    to 

^  Long's  Peak  is  in  what  is  known  as  the  "Front  Range" 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  is  about  48  miles  northwest  of  Den- 
ver, and  is  14,171  feet  above  the  sea,  being  a  little  higher 
than  Pike's,  which  is  14,147.  In  1819  Stephen  H.  Long  ex- 
plored the  northern  part  of  Colorado,  and  Long's  Peak  was 
named  after  him.  The  view  of  the  Peak  from  Antelope  Park, 
about  a  mile  from  Lyons,  is  very  fine. 

2  Pronounced  simply  "Cap"  as  spelled,  and  not  "Captain," 
though,  of  course,  that  had  been  his  rank  in  the  U.  S.  Army. 

II 


12      *         INTRODUCTION 

Lyons,  five  miles  distant,  by  way  of  Ante- 
lope Park,  over  the  picturesque  mountain- 
trail  every  fine  day,  as  a  rule,  for  his  mail, 
etc.;  riding  out  on  to  the  cattle-range  at 
regular  intervals  to  salt  the  cattle  (great 
steers,  most  of  them,  many  of  which  were 
much  larger  than  a  horse,  and  all,  cows 
as  well  as  steers,  and  the  two  dare-devil, 
swaggering  bulls,  almost  as  wild  as  deer 
— feeding  with  the  deer  at  times,  we  have 
been  told — and  no  wonder,  for  they  lived 
almost  as  wild  a  life:  the  cows  were 
never  milked,  and,  with  the  exception 
of  the  salt,  none  of  these  cattle  looked 
to  man  for  anything).  But  how  they  all 
did  respect  his  horse's  hoofs!  When- 
ever, in  salting  the  cattle,  in  his  horse's 
opinion,  these  big  brutes  of  steers  became  a 
little  too  familiar  in  their  manners,  how 
that  noble  animal  would  wheel  round  and 
deliver  a  broadside  kick  with  both  hind 
legs,  that  shot  out  like  lightning  together 
with  catapult-power!    Then  how  the  big 


INTRODUCTION  13 

steers  would  shrink  away  and  scatter,  the 
biggest  and  bravest  and  longest-horned  of 
them!  We  do  not  remember  that  the  bulls 
were  ever  presuming,  and  it  is  hard  to 
imagine  a  bull  being  afraid  of  anything — 
but  when  we  were  horseback  we  do  not 
remember  ever  fearing  them.  And  how 
they  all  did  love  the  salt!  We  always  went 
out  upon  the  range  to  salt  the  cattle  armed 
with  pistol  and  great  blacksnake  whip,  but 
there  was  never  any  use  for  either  that  we 
remember,  yet  one  feels  safer  to  go  armed 
in  the  wilderness,  where  the  wild  animals 
are  uncaged  and  there  are  no  policemen  to 
come  at  call. 

Note. — For  the  sake  of  whoever  desires  to  visit  the  Cap. 
White  Log-Cabin,  as  it  may  still  be  there,  we  will  give  a 
route  from  Denver:  To  Boulder;  to  Lyons  through  St.  Vrain 
Canon;  and  then  through  Antelope  Park,  always  towards 
Long's  Peak,  till  you  come  to  the  North  St.  Vrain,  and  then 
up  the  St.  Vrain  to  the  cabin.  Distance  from  Lyons  to  cabin, 
five  miles. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    FIRST   night's   YARNS 

Now,  if  you  had  been  a  guest  in  the  Cap. 
White  Cabin  upon  a  certain  evening  some 
twenty-odd  years  ago,  you  might  have 
heard  Cap.  White  spin  off  the  following 
little  Indian  yarn: — 

CAP.  WHITE  AND  THE  INDIANS 

^'Some  people  think  that  Indians  never 
laugh,  and  cannot  appreciate  a  joke,"  said 
the  Captain,  ^'but  I  know  different.  Let 
me  tell  you  a  story." 

The  worthy  Captain  is  one  of  a  party  of 
four  men  sitting  round  the  table  in  the 
cabin,  upon  which  table  there  is  nothing 
but  a  little  brown  jug,  some  glasses,  and 
pipes  and  tobacco. 

What  does  the  jug  contain? 

Well,  it  looks  like  cider,  as  it  stands  there 
15 


i6  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

in  the  glasses,  doesn't  it?  and  perhaps  it  is. 
Let  us  not  be  too  inquisitive. 

^^I  was  lying  down  there  by  the  fire- 
place one  night,"  pursued  the  Captain, 
^'stretched  out  at  my  ease  luxuriously,  and 
reading  a  book  by  the  light  of  the  blazing 
logs,  when  a  party  of  Indians  broke  in  upon 
me  suddenly  and  filled  the  cabin. 

''I  was  surprised,  of  course,  and  yet  I 
knew  that  Indians  were  near,  for  I  had  seen 
the  smoke  of  their  fires  over  there  in  Dead 
Man's  Gulch, ^  and  I  knew  that  at  that  time 
of  year  they  always  come  down  hereabouts 
to  visit  the  graves  of  their  forefathers. 

^'Well,  they  kept  nosing  around  the 
cabin,  looking  in  the  cupboard,  looking  at 
everything  almost,  and  examining  and  han- 
dling things  at  their  pleasure,  while  I  stood 
with  my  back  to  the  fire,  facing  them,  and 
watching  them. 

'^I  was  unarmed,  though  there  was  a  six- 
shooter  lying  on  the  mantel-piece  within 

1  About  half   a  mile  from  the  cabin. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  17 

reach  that  I  knew  was  all  loaded  and  ready 
for  use  if  need  should  come. 

^'They  were  all  armed,  every  man  of 
them,  each  with  his  rifle  and  hunting  knife. 
I  presume  there  were  ten  or  more  of  them 
in  the  cabin,  and  more  seemed  to  be  out- 
side. 

^^At  last  one  of  the  Indians  commenced 
fingering  some  property  of  mine  (I  really 
have  forgotten  now  what  it  was,  but  it  was 
something  precious  to  me — very  likely  a 
letter  or  trinket  from  a  certain  lady  then 
residing  away  back  East,  but  who  is  now 
my  wife). 

^'At  any  rate  it  was  more  than  I  could 
put  up  with. 

^'I  made  a  rush  for  him  in  a  rage  and 
caught  him  by  the  shoulders;  then  pulling 
him  away,  I  pushed  him  toward  the  open 
door  and  kicked  him  out  of  it. 

^'And  how  do  you  think  the  other  In- 
dians took  it? 

"Why,   they  just  guffawed,   and  jollied 


i8  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

the  chap  from  the  word  ^go' — all  the  time 
I  had  hold  of  him.  They  enjoyed  it  thor- 
oughly, and  apparently  had  not  the  remot- 
est idea  of  piling  pell-mell  on  to  me  and 
overpowering  me  by  sheer  force  of  num- 
bers as  they  could  easily  have  done,  most 
likely,  but  took  it  all  as  a  joke  on  their 
own  comrade,  and  when  I  walked  back  into 
the  cabin  among  them,  they  evidently 
thought  I  was  a  man  after  their  own  heart, 
and  treated  me  after  that  incident,  during 
the  remainder  of  their  self-invited  visit 
upon  me  that  evening,  with  the  greatest 
respect." 

^'Good!"  cried  Pete  the  Printer,  ''tell  us 
another."  The  others  made  a  chorus  for 
an  encore,  so  presently  Cap.  yielded. 

Just  a  word  here,  parenthetically,  as  to 
Pete  the  Printer.  In  polite  society  in  Col- 
orado and  the  West,  as  well  as  back  East, 
this  young  man  was  always  called,  of 
course,    by   his    right   name,    "Mr.    Petrie 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  19 

Pastorius."  But  the  printers  of  Colorado 
generally  called  him  ^Tete"  and  in  the  Cap. 
White  Log-Cabin  near  the  foot  of  Long's 
Peak,  the  scene  of  our  story,  it  was  usually 
^Tete"  and  ^Tete  the  Printer." 

As  to  what  manner  of  young  man  this 
Mr.  Petrie  Pastorius  was,  by  his  mode  of 
speech,  general  appearance  and  bearing, 
which  were  those  of  a  young  man  of  cul- 
ture and  refinement,  we  are  justified  in  the 
surmise,  we  think,  that  Petrie  came  of  a 
good  family  of  some  wealth  and  promi- 
nence ''Back  East,"  and  that,  either  from 
pure  love  of  adventure,  or  seeking  to  better 
his  fortunes,  the  young  man  was  finishing 
off  his  education  by  seeing  life  at  first  hand 
— as  is  the  immemorial  custom  in  Ger- 
many; and  was,  very  much  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  German  student,  ''roughing"  it 
in  the  West,  and  working  at  his  trade  of 
printer  (which  trade,  it  was  quite  possible, 
he  had  learned  in  the  printing  ofiice  of  his 
father's  publishing  house  in  Philadelphia). 


20  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

But,  however  correct  that  guess  may  be, 
Pete  the  Printer's  character  and  standing 
in  Colorado  were,  to  sum  up  the  whole 
matter,  something  like  this: 

To  the  foremen  of  many  newspapers  and 
printing  offices,  from  Greeley  to  Pueblo, 
and  from  Denver  to  Grand  Junction,  Pete 
the  Printer  was  known  simply  as  a  good, 
faithful  printer-at-the-case.  To  the  edi- 
tors of  the  Grand  Junction  Newis,  Central 
City  Register-Call,  Denver  Rocky  Moun- 
tain N enjoys,  and  Denver  Inter-Ocean,  he 
was  known  also  as  a  budding  young  writer, 
whose  poetic  effusions  and  what  not,  they 
were  willing  to  publish.  To  the  County 
Judge  of  Gilpin  County,  he  was  known 
(ah,  unhappy  fate!)  as  an  unfortunate 
young  gentleman  whom  the  eagle  eye  of  the 
inquisitive  and  unsympathetic  Sheriff  of 
that  County  had  detected  carrying  a  pistol 
in  the  hip-pocket  of  his  trousers  (shortly 
after  Colorado  had  passed  the  law  prohibit- 
ing  the   carrying  of   concealed   weapons) 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  21 

and  who,  because  of  his  sadly  misplaced 
faith  in  the  Equity  of  Courts  (being  young 
and  inexperienced  in  the  ways  of  this 
wicked  world)  had  (instead  of  doing  as  he 
should  have  done,  retained  a  lawyer  to  do 
it  for  him)  argued  his  own  case  in  the  pis- 
tol-afifair  before  the  said  Judge,  to  his  sor- 
row, and  who,  had  not  his  friends  come 
stoutly  to  his  rescue  in  his  sad  predicament 
(maintaining  that  he  was  a  victim  of  cir- 
cumstances and  was  amply  justified  in  so 
arming  himself,  as  he  thought  his  life  was 
in  danger,  and  he  had  only  armed  himself 
with  the  pistol  in  self-defense),  he  would 
not  only  have  been  mulcted  of  fifty  dollars 
but  would  have  had  an  opportunity  to 
write  a  book  in  jail  like  John  Bunyan,  or 
receive  his  friends  in  prison  like  immortal 
Socrates!  To  polite  society  in  various 
parts  of  the  Centennial  State,  notably,  per- 
haps, the  recherche  circles  of  Denver  and 
Colorado  Springs,  he  was  known  as  an 
agreeable  young  fellow  who  had  brought 


22  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

with  him  from  the  East  satisfactory  letters 
of  introduction.  So  much  for  the  charac- 
ter and  standing  of  Pete  the  Printer  in 
Colorado.  Now  let  us  hasten  back  to  the 
Cap.  White  Log-Cabin  where  Cap.  is  just 
about  to  begin  another  story. 

'Well,  here's  another  little  story,  which 
together  with  my  first  one,  will  give  you 
some  idea,  Pete,  what  a  man  has  to  contend 
with  who  runs  a  cattle-ranch  near  the  foot 
of  Long's  Peak.' 

CAP.  WHITE  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN-LION 

''One  day  I  ran  up  the  trail  over  there 
that  leads  out  to  the  winter  cattle  range, 
back  of  the  cabin,  for  something,  firewood, 
very  likely,  I  don't  remember.  But  I 
hadn't  a  thing  with  me  to  defend  myself 
with,  not  even  a  club  or  a  stick,  let  alone  a 
gun  or  a  knife,  when  what  should  I  do  but 
run  plumb  up  against  a  big  mountain-lion. 

"He  didn't  hear  me  coming  and  I  didn't 
hear  him  coming,  and  suddenly  there  we 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  23 

were  right  up  against  one  another,  con- 
fronting one  another  there  in  the  trail,  only 
about  five  to  ten  yards  apart,  and  neither 
of  us  knowing  at  first  exactly  what  to  do. 
At  least,  I  know  that  /  didn't,  and  he 
looked  to  me  as  if  he  didn't  either.  We 
didn't  take  our  eyes  off  one  another,  but 
stood  there  motionless,  for  a  moment  or  so, 
till  I  thought  he  was  preparing  for  a  spring, 
and  maybe  you  won't  believe  me,  gentle- 
men, when  I  tell  you  that  I  then  and  there, 
out  of  sheer  necessity,  put  up  the  biggest 
bluff  of  my  life. 

^'I  off  with  my  hat  and  whirled  it  around 
my  head  and  comported  myself  in  a  man- 
ner so  ferocious  and  strange,  even  advanc- 
ing a  step  toward  the  brute,  as  I  yelled  and 
gyrated  and  swung  my  hat  round,  that, 
darn  me,  if  the  critter  didn't  turn  tail  after 
a  bit  and  run  away  as  hard  as  he  could  go! 

'We  had  never  taken  our  eyes  off  one 
another,  till  he  turned  tail  and  ran  away, 
and   it  seemed   to   me   the   puzzled   lion's 


24  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

thought  was:  What  the  dickens  is  this? 
A  man  don't  act  this  way,  nor  anything  else 
that  I  know  of. — I  don't  know  how  to  take 
it. — I  don't  know  what  the  critter  will  do.' 

"So  off  he  ran. 

^'And  I  can  tell  you  I  didn't  lose  any 
time,  when  he  was  out  of  sight,  getting  back 
to  the  cabin;  and  I  snatched  my  rifle  and 
out  after  him,  but  I  never  saw  him  again. 


''You  don't  laugh.  Muggins,"  said  Cap. 
(addressing  Mr.  Muggins,  a  grocer  of 
Longmont,  who  had  furnished  the  eatables 
and  drinkables  for  the  party — Cap.  White, 
Jim  Johnson  and  himself,  who  were  visit- 
ing the  cabin  on  a  hunting  and  fishing 
trip;  Pete  the  Printer  being  their  host  at 
the  time;  running  the  ranch  for  his  em- 
ployer, Barnes  (one  of  a  firm  of  cattlemen 
— Krupp  &  Barnes — then  the  owners  of 
it),  Barnes  himself,  the  partner  who 
usually  lived  on  the  ranch  (Mr.  Krupp  at- 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  25 

tending  to  the  business  end  of  the  firm 
pretty  much  altogether  at  their  store  in 
Boulder),  being  away  on  a  visit  to  London, 
England,  his  old  home). 

^'You  don't  laugh.  Muggins,"  said  Cap., 
'^do  you  believe  it?" 

^'I  believe  it,  Cap.,"  returned  Mr.  Mug- 
gins, with  a  broad  grin.  '^I  always  thought 
you  were  an  old  bluffer.  Cap.,  and  now 
I'm  sure  of  it.  You  don't  bluff  me  any 
more  with  my  grocery  bills,  I  can  tell  you." 

''Ha,  ha!"  returned  Cap.  "But  what 
would  you  have  done  in  a  case  like  that?" 

"Oh,  he'd  just  a'  presented  one  o'  his  gro- 
cery bills  to  th'  lion,"  put  in  Johnson  before 
Muggins  could  open  his  mouth,  "an'  that 
would  a'  settled  ut — th'  beast  would  a' 
scampered  away  fast  enough  then,  I'll  war- 


rant." 


The  laugh  was  then  on  Mr.  Muggins. 

"Do  you  think  your  life  was  reely  in 
danger.  Cap.?"  queried  that  gentleman  in- 
nocently. 


26  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

They  all  laughed  uproariously  at  this 
sally. 

''For  heaven's  sake,  pass  me  the  jug!" 
cried  Cap.  'That's  the  limit! — and  I  be- 
lieve Muggins  is  serious,  too! — He  never 
cracked  a  smile!" 

"Oh,  they  won't  hurt  ye,  these  wild 
beasts,"  Johnson,  who  was  an  old  hunter, 
commenced  then  in  his  quiet  way,  "it's  all 
a  mistake  t'  think  so.  Ha,  ha!"  (chuc- 
kling) .  "Why,  Barnes  told  me  hisself  that  a 
big  bear  walked  right  intuh  this  very  cabin 
one  day  when  he  was  cookin'  'is  supper, 
an'  cavorted  aroun'  on  'is  hind  legs,  lookin' 
at  things — opened  th'  cupboard  door  an' 
helped  hisself  to  some  biled  pertates,  an' 
purty  soon  walked  out  agin — all  on  'is 
hind  legs,  jist  like  a  man,  an'  as  peaceable 
an'  innocent  as  ye  please.  T'  be  sure 
Barnes  did  get  up  intuh  the  loft  in  a  hurry, 
but  the  bear  just  helped  hisself  to  th'  per- 
tates an'  then  tip-toed  out,  all  on  'is  hind 
legs,  jist  like  a  gentleman  as  'e  wuz — jist 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  27 

like  you  'r  me.  Oh,  they  won't  hurt  ye!" 
(chuckling  again). 

^'And  yet  how  we  do  'suspicion'  'em,  eh, 
Johnson?"  murmured  Cap.,  smoking  away 
at  his  pipe  comfortably. 

After  a  pause  in  which  the  jug  was  passed 
and  all  smoked  a  bit  in  silence,  Cap.  turned 
to  Pete  with : 

'Tete,  you're  next,  if  you'll  kindly  do  us 
the  favor." 

Pete  put  down  his  pipe  and  commenced 
forthwith. 

''My  story  is  entitled: 

"  'COLORADO'S  WONDERFUL  LIGHT  AIR.' 

"Though  I  was  born  in  Pennsylvania, 
and  so,  very  naturally,  love  the  Keystone 
State  the  best,  where  I  passed  my  halcyon 
youth  and  early  manhood  and  where  all  my 
folks  still  live,  yet  Colorado  certainly  is  one 
of  the  most  wonderful  and  beautiful  States 
among  this  country's  bright  galaxy  of  won- 
derful and  beautiful  States.     To  one  born 


28  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

here  I  think  it  must  surely  seem  the  bright- 
est gem  of  them  all.  Aesthetically  it  cap- 
tures the  heart  of  the  visitor  at  once,  and 
he  may  pass  on  to  other  scenes,  but  he  never 
can  forget  1  The  sky  is  the  sky  of  Italy, 
but  mountain  and  plain  and  the  wonderful 
air  are  Colorado's  own. 

''Now  there  is  a  saying  out  here  in  Colo- 
rado, that  is  given  as  an  excuse  for  many 
a  shortcoming,  escapade  and  wild  antic: — 

''  'Oh,  it's  the  light  air, — he  is  not  to 
blame!  He  could  not  help  it — it's  just  the 
light  airM 

"A  young  fellow  gets  very  excited  about 
something  and  says  a  whole  lot  of  things 
that  were  better  left  unsaid. 

"  'Oh,  it's  the  light  airl'  someone  is  sure 
to  explain. 

"The  bank  clerk,  the  most  perfect  young 
man  in  town,  who  neither  smokes  nor 
drinks  nor  swears  and  is  superintendent  of 
the  Sunday  School,  runs  off  with  the  bank's 
funds. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  29 

"  ^Oh,  horrible!'  we  cry,  ^can  such  things 
be?' 

^'But  without  fail  the  excuse  is  soon 
forthcoming,  'Oh,  it's  the  light  air!' 

''Brown  is  false  to  his  marriage-vows 
and  Smith  fails  to  meet  his  financial  obliga- 
tions. 

"'Oh,  it's  the  light  air!' 

"When  the  'tenderfoot'  walks  up  hill  too 
fast  out  here  and  begins  to  puff  all  out  of 
breath,  much  sooner  than  he  does  back 
East,  of  course  everyone  admits  that  'it's  the 
light  air';  but  also,  when  an  old  man  about 
eighty  or  ninety  years  old  takes  a  'tender- 
foot' out  over  the  mountains  to  sell  him 
some  of  his  mines  and  the  'tenderfoot' 
watches  him  with  wonder  and  admiration, 
not  unmixed  with  awe,  go  trotting  up  hill 
and  down,  up  hill  and  down,  up  hill  and 
down,  for  an  entire  day,  taking  his  luncheon 
on  the  fly  or  no  luncheon  at  all  perhaps,  the 
poor  'tenderfoot'  crawling  after  him,  al- 
most dead  with  fatigue,  and  praying  for  a 


30  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

horse,  why,  then,  the  only  explanation  pos- 
sible must  certainly  be,  'Oh,  it's  the  light 
air!' 

^'For  an  'old  man'  almost  anywhere  else 
but  in  Colorado  is  an  'old  man'  and  knows 
his  place,  and  you  know  where  to  find  him, 
and  he  mostly  always  is  there,  but  in 
Colorado  you  can't  take  it  for  granted,  and 
you  often  discover  to  your  sorrow  if  you  go 
out  walking  with  the  Colorado  'old  man,' 
that  he  is  setting  an  awfully  swift  pace, 
and  is  really  not  an  'old  man'  at  all  in  any 
true  sense  of  the  word,  with  the  solitary 
exception  that  he  has  white  or  gray  hair; 
— his  cheeks  are  so  red,  and  his  eyes  are  so 
bright,  his  tongue  so  voluble,  and,  above  all, 
his  legs  so  untiring,  that  the  dark  suspicion 
obtains  in  many  a  'tenderfoot's'  mind  that 
he  is  being  imposed  upon  somehow — he 
knows  he  is  completely  outclassed  both  as 
a  walker  and  talker,  and  he  knows  that  as 
far  as  all  other  appearances  go,  long  before 
his  tramp  with  the  Colorado  'old  man'  is 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  31 

finished,  that  he,  the  'tenderfoot'  of  thirty- 
five,  is  the  real  bona-fide  'old  man,'  and  the 
Colorado  'old  man'  is  not  an  old  man  at 
all — the  Colorado  'old  man,'  the  'tender- 
foot' is  willing  to  swear,  is  nothing  at  all  in 
the  world  but  just  a  husky  young  man  who 
wears  a  white  beard,  heaven  knows  why! 
And  the  'tenderfoot'  wonders  if  he  just 
dyed  it  somehow  with  snow  off  some  moun- 
tain peak,  so  as  to  fool  and  almost  kill  any 
rash  'tenderfoot'  who  tries  to  keep  up  with 
him,  as  he  walks  him  around  over  the 
mountains  to  show  him  his  mines." 

After  generous  applause, 

"Hurrah  for  Colorado's  light  air!"  Cap. 
cried  in  his  hearty  way.  And  then,  after 
a  short  interval  of  silence, 

"Pass  the  jug  around!"  he  cried,  "let's 
all  have  another  swig,  and  then  Johnson 
and  Muggins  have  each  got  to  tell  one,  and 
then  we'll  call  it  a  day,  and  all  turn  in  and 
go  to  bed." 


32  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

^'Not  me!"  spoke  up  Johnson  weakly, 
but  no  one  seemed  to  hear. 

''Cap.  is  boss  for  th'  time  bein',"  quoth 
Muggins  oracularly,  ''he  built  this  here 
cabin,  ye  know,  Pete,  with  his  own  fair 
hands,  an'  although  he  don't  own  th'  ranch 
now,  just  as  soon  as  ever  he  sets  foot  in- 
side this  cabin,  Pete,  he  always  seems  to 
think  he  does  own  it — and  th'  whole  blamed 
world  to  boot,  for  that  matter,  it  seems  to 
me,  he  gets  so  dashed  independent!  So 
though  you,  Pete,  are  th'  real  boss  o'  course, 
it  makes  no  difference — so  tune  'er  up,  John- 
son, there's  no  escape,  ye  see." 

"Not  me!"  spoke  up  the  old  hunter  again 
in  a  little  stronger  voice,  but  he  was  not 
noticed  this  time  either  apparently. 

Cap.  smiled  good-naturedly  at  Muggins 
but  vouchsafed  no  further  answer  to  that 
w^orthy's  remarks. 

"Not  me! — not  me,  I  say!"  cried  Johnson 
in  a  loud  voice,  growing  more  alarmed 
every  moment,  "I'll  tell  no  story,  I  tell  ye! 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  33 

That's  not  in  my  line.  I  won'tj  I  tell  ye — 
d'ye  hear!     But  you  can,  Muggins." 

''Oh,  /  can,  can  I?"  retorted  Muggins, 
bursting  out  laughing  at  Johnson's  terror, 
''I  like  that! — Cap.,  you'll  have  to  attend 
to  Johnson — he  says  he  wont/' 

"Ef  'twas  my  turn  t'  shoot  a  deer,  I  could 
do  't — but  story-tellin' — no." 

''All  right,  Johnson,"  spoke  up  Cap., 
"you  don't  have  to.  We'll  decide  on  the 
fine  to-morrow." 

Then  Cap.  winked  to  Pete  and  leaning 
over  whispered  to  him:  "I  see  venison 
aplenty  in  my  mind's  eye,  Pete;  we'll  talk 
it  over  to-morrow.  Johnson  is  the  only 
sure-thing  deer-slayer  in  the  party — we'll 
fix  him!  He  don't  have  to  tell  a  story,  but 
he's  got  to  pay  his  fine — we'll  each  have  a 
deer  to  take  home  with  us  if  we  work  it 
right — catch  on?" 

Pete  winked  back  at  him  and  smiled  for 
answer. 

"It's   your   turn    now,    Muggins,"    Cap. 


34  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

called  out,  turning  to  that  gentleman 
peremptorily,  '^get  to  work!" 

'^AU  right,  here  goes,"  Muggins  re- 
sponded briskly. 

^'The  name  of  my  tale  is  called: 

''  'th'  cry-baby  giant  of  roarin'  fork' 

^'One  day  there  came  a-walkin'  down  th' 
gulch  of  th'  creek  called  th'  Roarin'  Fork 
an'  into  th'  town  o'  Glenwood  Springs,^ — 
which,  as  ye  know,  lays  almost  completely 
surrounded  by  high  mountains,  so  that  ye 
have  to  be  all  th'  time  explainin'  away  to 
yerself  th'  feelin'  that  you're  in  a  hole — 
a  great  big  fellah,  a  reg'lar  giant,  from  no- 
body knew  where. 

''He'd  an  innocent,  baby  face,  his  clothes 
looked  like  he  was  a  rancher  or  such  like, 
an'  he  appeared  generally  a  whole  lot  like 
a  countryman.  However,  though  so  tall 
an'   so  big — such  a  giant — he  looked  just 

iQn   the    Grand   River,    and   the    Denver   &  R.   G.   R.   R. 
Famous  as  a  health  resort.     Pop.,  1,350. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  35 

like  a  big,  harmless  creature,  an'  quite  a 
crowd  o'  men  an'  boys  got  round  him  be- 
fore long  an'  then  some  o'  them  took  t' 
guyin'  him. 

''Th'  fellah  he  took  it  good-naturedly  at 
first,  but  when,  at  last,  one  o'  th'  boldest  o' 
th'  young  fellahs,  a  husky  miner  he  looked 
like,  slipped  up  behind  th'  big  fellah  an' 
knocked  his  hat  off,  matters  at  once  com- 
menced to  begin  t'  happen,  though  maybe 
ye  won't  believe  me,  yet  it's  true  as 
preachin',  an'  though  I  never  seen  th'  like 
before,  I'll  swear  to  't,  at  one  an'  th'  same 
identical  moment  that  th'  big  fellah  sw^ung 
himself  round  an'  his  right  arm  shot  out 
like  a  kick  from  a  horse  w^hich  sent  th' 
miner  sprawlin',  he  also  commenced  t' 
cry — he  did,  by  thunder!  He  actually  'boo- 
hooed',  th'  tears  a-rollin'  down  his  cheeks. 

^Turty  soon,  as  th'  crowed  around  th' 
giant  cry-baby  grew  bigger  an'  bigger, 
there  w^as  some  more  insults  an'  gross  prov- 
ocations for  him,  an'  again  his  great,  big 


36  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

arm  shot  out  an'  another  presump'shus 
chap  bit  th'  dust,  an'  then  another  time  th' 
same  thing  happened  over  again,  an'  then 
another  an'  another,  an'  still  another. 

^'He  had  'em  droppin'  an'  rollin'  over 
each  other  all  round  him  for  about  a  minute 
— th'  blow  of  his  fist  was  like  th'  kick  of 
a  horse  an'  any  ordinary  man  didn't  stand 
no  show  at  all — an'  all  th'  while  th'  tears 
were  a'  rollin'  down  his  cheeks,  an'  he  was 
boo-hooin'  just  like  any  other  cry-baby. 

"By  this  time  th'  crowd  had  had  enough. 
There  was  th'  greatest  scramblin'  you  ever 
saw  for  a  minute  'r  two  t'  get  well  out  o' 
th'  reach  o'  th'  big  cry-baby's  arm. 

"An'  then  they  all  stood  off  at  a  mighty 
respectful  distance  an'  just  looked  at  him. 

"There  wasn't  a  single  one  among  the 
crowd  surroundin'  th'  giant,  who  dared  now 
t'  come  near  him." 

There  was  a  hearty  round  of  applause 
for  Muggins's  story,  and  then,  after  all  had 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  37 

sampled  the  contents  of  the  brown  jug,  and 
had  had  their  final  go-to-bed  smoke,  Cap. 
yawned  and  said: 

''It's  time  to  go  to  bed! 

"Pete,  if  I  were  you,  I'd  blow  out  the 
lamp  about  now — the  fire  makes  enough 
light  for  us  to  go  to  bed  by." 

And  very  soon  after  that  Pete  was  sound 
asleep,  alone  in  the  solitary  bed,  while  the 
others,  wrapped  in  their  own  blankets  and 
quilts  (which  they  had  "packed  in"  with 
them  from  town  along  w^ith  their  "grub,"  ^) 
lay  on  the  floor  and  were  also  in  the  arms 
of  Morpheus  and  there  was  no  sound  in  the 
cabin  but  their  regular  breathing  and  the 
soft,  soothing  sound  of  the  pitch-pine  logs 
still  burning  away  in  the  great  open  fire- 
place. The  season  was  autumn,  verging 
into  winter,  and  the  nights  were  cool,  mak- 

1  Wayfarers  in  the  woods  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  are 
always  welcome  at  any  cabin  they  come  to,  to  stop  over  night 
and  take  a  meal  or  two;  but  for  any  extended  stay  the  visitor 
is  expected — even  if  an  old  friend — to  furnish  his  own  blan- 
kets  and  "grub."     So  the  writer  was  told  when  he  was  there. 


38  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

ing  a  fire  pleasant;  besides,  it  was  safer  to 
keep  the  fire  going  pretty  much  all  night 
out  there  in  the  woods — wild  animals,  you 
know,  will  not  venture  very  close  to  a  light, 
and  in  the  darkness,  as  you  are  aware,  they 
can  see  much  better  than  a  man  can. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  SECOND  NIGHT'S  YARNS 

The  next  day  was  quite  a  busy  day  for 
all.  Pete  had  gone  fishing  and  caught  a 
big  mess  of  trout  out  of  the  good  old  St. 
Vrain,  Johnson  had  shot  a  deer,  and  Cap. 
White  and  Muggins  had,  between  them, 
killed  a  big  black  bear,  so  there  was  a- 
plenty  of  venison  to  eat,  and  trout,  and  no 
one  of  the  party  would  have  cause  to  suffer 
the  coming  winter  for  lack  of  bear-grease 
to  oil  his  hair  with,  at  any  rate. 

But  after  a  square  evening  meal  in  which 
the  venison  figured  largely,  when  they 
again  sat  around  the  table  with  the  jug  and 
glasses,  pipes  and  tobacco  upon  it,  they  soon 
fell  to  telling  stories  as  usual. 

''Muggins  has  got  to  lead  off  to-night," 
said  Cap. 

39 


40  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

"An'  if  I  do,"  returned  Mr.  Muggins,  ''I 
know  what  my  theme  '11  be." 

^What?"  asked  Cap. 

"Why,  you — it'll  be  all  about  you;  I  don't 
think  Pete  an'  Johnson  know  you  as  I  do, 
an'  I  don't  think  it's  right  t'  leave  them  in 
ignorance,  so  I'm  goin'  t'  ^'fess  up'  some  o' 
your  sins.  Cap." 

"Oh,  go  ahead,  I'm  not  scared.  What's 
to  be  the  title  of  this  yarn  you're  going  to  tell 
about  me?" 

"I'll  call  it,"  said  Mr.  Muggins,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye, 

"  'CAP.  WHITE  AS  A  BULLDOZER'  " 

"Hear,  hear!"  cried  Cap.,  smiling,  "sail 
in — I  don't  care." 

"When  Cap.  took  up  this  quarter-section 
o'  land  for  a  homestead  some  years  ago  an' 
settled  down  to  cattle-raisin'  with  all  his 
might  an'  main,  so  as  t'  get  rich  as  soon  as 
he  could,  an'  send  word  t'  a  certain  little 
lady  away  back  East  t'  come  out  West  t' 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  41 

him  here,  an'  be  his  wife — (Ahem! — that 
don't  make  you  mad,  does  it,  Cap.?") 

^^Not  a  bit  of  it — and  I  don't  deny  your 
story  so  far." 

'Well,  in  those  days  when  Cap.  was 
workin'  this  cattle-ranch  for  all  it  was  worth, 
would-be  settlers  used  sometimes  t'  find 
their  way  up  here  an'  interview  Cap.,  so 
I've  heard,  t'  try  t'  find  out  exactly  where 
Cap.'s  quarter-section  was,  so  they  could 
take  up  a  quarter-section  an'  start  a  cattle- 
ranch  somewhere  around  here  themselves. 

"  'Ah,  Captain,'  they  would  say,  after  con- 
versin'  a  bit  on  th'  weather  an'  other  topics 
of  a  general  nature,  'show  me  where  your 
corners  are — define  your  boundaries.' 

"An'  Cap.  would  at  once  look  wild,  so 
I've  heard,  an'  say,  with  appropriate  ges- 
tures: 

"  'Do  you  remember  those  bars  that  you 
came  through  by  the  creek,  on  the  trail  about 
a  mile  before  you  came  to  the  cabin — that 
w^as  my  east  boundary.     And  from  those 


42  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

bars  up  to  the  Snowy  Range  is  all  mine — the 
Snowy  Range  is  my  west  boundary ;  an'  Cof- 
fin-Top Mountain  over  there  is  my  south 
boundary.  And  that  range  of  mountains 
yonder  is  my  north  boundary.' 

'''Oh,  come  oEV  th'  would-be  settler 
would  exclaim,  growin'  angry,  'have  some 
sense!  It  must  be  at  least  five  miles  from 
those  bars  to  th'  Snowy  Range! — an'  from 
Coffin-Top  t'  that  range  o'  mountains  over 
there,  north,  must  be  a  good  five  miles,  too! 
Do  ye  mean  t'  say  ye  claim  everything  in 
sight?  I  can  find  out  in  town  where  your 
boundaries  are,  an'  I  will,  too!' 

"  'Much  good  it  will  do  you !'  Cap.  would 
retort. 

"  'Well,  if  it  suits  me  I'll  come  out  here 
an'  settle — d'  ye  see?  You  have  no  right  t' 
any  more'n  just  your  quarter-section,  th' 
same  as  anybody  else — you're  usin'  half-a- 
dozen  settlers'  rights  in  this  ranch,  you  are! 
From  those  bars  t'  the  Snowy  Range!  Ye 
make  me  tired!     If  ye  refuse  t'  define  your 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  43 

boundaries,  I'll  get  'em  from  someone  else 
who  knows,  an'  if  I  find  a  quarter-section 
around  here  that  suits  me,  I'll  take  it  up,  too, 
an'  build  me  a  cabin  on  it  an'  have  my  home 
here.' 

'^'Yes,  you  will— like  h— 1!' 

''  What's  to  prevent?' 

''  'All  I've  got  t'  say  is,'  returns  Cap.,  in 
a  decisive  tone  an'  a  look  in  his  eyes  that 
shows  he  means  what  he  says,  'I'll  make  it 
pretty  hot  for  anyone  who  settles  on  my 
ranch!     You  hear  meF 

''An'  th'  upshot  of  it  was,  he  scared  th' 
life  out  of  'em  so,  they  were  afraid  t'  take 
his  dare  an'  come  up  here.  An'  nobody 
ever  did  come  up  here  an'  interfere  with 
Cap.'s  little  game  of  gettin'  rich  raisin'  cat- 
tle on  this  beautiful  cattle-ranch,  whose 
boundaries  extend  in  every  direction  as  far 
as  you  can  see.  Cap.  didn't  have  t'  build 
any  fences  an'  nobody  else's  cattle  ever  got 
mixed  with  his,  for  th'  Snowy  Range  was 
a  good  fence,  an'  so  was  Coffin-Top  Moun- 


44  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

tain  an'  that  range  t'  th'  north,  an'  few 
were  th'  cattle  that  ever  managed  t'  get 
away  across  those  boundaries.  Yes,  he  did 
have  a  fence,  too  (excuse  me.  Cap.),  he  had 
about  twenty  feet  o'  fence — that  fence  down 
there  that  crosses  th'  stream,  where  th'  bars 
are,  on  th'  trail,  as  you  come  up  t'  th'  cabin, 
just  as  you  see  't  to-day." 

Mr.  Muggins  commenced  smoking,  there 
was  some  laughter  and  applause,  and  then 
Cap.  arose  and  spoke  up  in  his  own  defence. 

^'Of  course  you  all  understand,  gentle- 
men," said  he  gravely,  ''that  this  is  merely  a 
Utory'  which  Mr.  Muggins  has  just  kindly 
given  us,  and  not  in  any  sense  a  'statement 
of  fact/''  (Bowing  to  Mr.  Muggins.) 
^'This  much  is,  true,  however: — That  I  dis- 
couraged settlers  coming  in  up  here  because 
there  was  no  room  for  more  than  one  settler 
up  here,  and  I  was  already  here.  See? 
Now,  Johnson"  (turning  to  the  old  hunter) 
''you  know  what's   expected  of  you! — it's 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  45 

your  turn  next  at  the  story-telling — youVe 
got  to  tell  your  story  just  the  same  as  any- 
body else!"  (with  a  wink  to  Pete  on  the 
side). 

'T\\  tell  ye  wat  I'll  do,  Cap.,"  replied 
poor  Johnson,  squirming  in  his  chair,  ^^ef 
ye'U  let  me  out  o'  the  story-tellin'  to-night, 
an'  purswade  Pete  t'  tell  wun  fur  me, — I'll 
make  a  presint  uv  a  deer  tu  ev'ry  man  in  th' 
party — so  that  ev'ry  man  in  this  here  cabin 
t'night  uz  we  kum  ridin'  hum  intuh  Long- 
mont,  '11  hev  a  deer  tu  show  fur  hisself  an' 
take  hum  t'  'is  wife,  an'  Pete  sh'll  hev  wun, 
tu,  t'  cil'brate  Barnes's  hum-comin'  w'en  'e 
gets  back  here  frum  ole  Englan'  (which  is, 
o'  corse,  ef  I've  th'  snoopin'  gud  luck  t' 
knock  over  that  meny  deer,  ye  understan'). 
What  d'ye  say,  Cap.?" 

Cap.  (aside  to  Pete)  :  ^'The  old  hunter 
must  be  a  mind-readerl" 

^'Sure  thing!"  returned  Pete  sotto  voce. 

^Why,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  John- 
son," cried  Cap.  jovially  aloud  to  the  old 


46  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

hunter,  ^'I  agree  to  your  kind  and  generous 
proposal  with  thanks,  much  as  I  thould  like 
to  hear  a  story  from  you.  Pete,  what  do 
you  say?" 

''I  accept  with  thanks,"  responded  Pete, 
'Til  rig  up  some  kind  of  a  craft  and  call 
it  a  yarn — trust  me — the  inducement  is 
great!" 

''I  know  there  won't  be  any  kick  coming 
from  Muggins,"  pursued  Cap.,  "catch 
Muggins  kicking  at  a  thing  like  that!" 

''I've  got  too  much  sense  t'  kick  at  any- 
thing like  that,"  returned  Muggins,  grin- 
ning, "for  I  know  we've  got  a  sure  thing,  an' 
it's  a  fool  who'll  kick  at  a  sure  thing.  Who- 
ever heard  o'  Johnson  not  bein'  able  t'  shoot 
a  deer  in  these  here  woods  whenever  he 
wants  one?" 

"It's  pretty  blamed  near  a  sure  thing,  I'll 
own,"  said  Cap.  "You  see  what  confidence 
we  have  in  you,  Johnson,"  (rising  to  his 
feet  and  addressing  the  old  hunter  with  a 
low  bow) ,  "we  acknowledge,  you  see,  John- 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  47 

son,  that  you're  the  best  hunter  in  the  party. 
And  you  see  that  you  can't  make  any  breaks 
like  that  without  taking  the  consequences. 
We  all  agree  to  your  kind  proposal  with 
thanks/' 

''Oh,  I'm  lucky,  that's  all,"  returned 
Johnson  in  some  confusion,  filling  his  pipe 
as  he  talked,  ''you're  just  ez  good  a  hunter 
yerself  ez  I  be,  Cap.,  ef  ye  on'y  nu  ut,  an' 
worked  ez  hard.  How^somever,  hev  ut  yer 
own  way.  I'm  much  obleeged  t'  all  uv  ye 
for  yer  good  opinyun,  I'm  sure." 

"Now,  Pete,  you're  in  for  it,"  said  Cap., 
turning  to  Pete.  "Say,  Pete,  by  the  way,  do 
you  know  it  has  always  puzzled  me  how 
in  thunder  a  printer — you  say  you're  a 
printer?" 

"Well,  I  certainly  know  the  trade,"  re- 
turned Pete,  "my  father  was  a  publisher, 
and  I  learned  the  printer's  trade  in  his 
printing  ofiice." 

"Well,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  it  has  al- 
ways puzzled  me,  Pete,  how  in  thunder  a 


48  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

printer  could  find  his  way  up  here  alone 
from  Lyons  to  this  cabin,  even  if  Krupp 
did  give  you  a  rough  sketch  of  the  trail  and 
instructions  about  it." 

"There  are  printers  an  printers,"  sug- 
gested Muggins,  "Pete  must  be  th'  kind  of 
a  printer  that  could  do  't,  eh,  Pete?" 

"Well,  I  did  do  it,"  answered  Pete 
gravely,  the  smile  leaving  his  face,  "but  it 
was  more  owing  to  good  luck  than  good 
management,  I'm  afraid;  I'm  not  'stuck  up' 
about  it,  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  Cap. : 

"It  has  always  seemed  to  me,  Cap.,  that 
but  for  a  kind  Providence,  I  just  as  likely 
as  not  never  would  have  got  here.  I  came 
within  an  ace  of  going  right  on  past  the 
cabin  to  the  Snowy  Range  and  nowhere,  so 
to  speak." 

"Why,  you  don't  say  so? — I  never  heard 
that!"  exclaimed  Cap. 

"Yes,  I  was  considerably  off  the  trail, 
that's  sure — too  high  up  on  the  mountain- 
side.    There  was  only  one  little  thing,  it 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  49 

has  always  seemed  to  me,  which  prevented 
me  from  getting  lost  that  afternoon,  and 
spending  the  night  heaven  only  knows  how 
and  where!  I  had  traveled  far  enough — 
the  cabin  was  right  abreast  of  me,  had  I 
only  known  it,  but  I  did  not.  There  is 
scarcely  a  doubt  I  would  have  continued  on 
my  way  and  gone  straight  ahead,  and  per- 
haps got  hopelessly  lost,  but  for  one  little 
thing  that  happened,  as  I  have  said — and  it 
was  only  about  half  an  hour  to  sunset  and 
nightfall."     Pete  paused. 

'Well,"  queried  Cap.,  'Svhat  was  that 
little  thing  that  happened?" 

HOW  PETE  WAS  SAVED  BY  A  SQUIRREL 

'Well,  I'll  tell  you.  Cap.  (and  this  will 
have  to  pass  as  the  story  I  have  agreed  to 
tell  for  Johnson,  though  it  is  a  short  one). 

''As  I  have  already  remarked,  then,  just 
as  I  came  abreast  of  the  cabin,  which  was 
quite  a  distance  below  me  down  the  moun- 
tain-side, and  I  walking  straight  ahead,  and 


50  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

having  no  idea  the  cabin  was  near,  and  see- 
ing no  sign  of  it — when  out  ran  a  squirrel — 
a  little  red  chipmunk  came  down  a  tree  and 
sat  on  a  rock  to  the  left  of  me. 

''Out  flashed  my  revolver,  I  can  tell  you; 
(the  only  weapon  I  had  with  me)  for 
though  I  had  thought  nothing  about  it,  in- 
stinct is  strong  in  a  man  in  such  a  case,  and 
there  was  no  doubt  but  that  if  I  failed  to 
find  the  cabin  I  would  be  without  anything 
to  eat.  I  had  matches,  and  therefore  could 
build  a  fire  and  camp  out  in  the  open,  if  it 
came  to  the  worst,  but  something  to  eat  I 
must  have — a  man  after  a  tramp  like  that, 
particularly  in  Colorado's  'wonderful  light 
air,'  is  hungry  as  a  bear — eh,  Cap.?" 

"You  bet!" 

"And  I  was  that  hungry,  gentlemen,  I  can 
assure  you,  and  quite  tired  as  well,  so  it  was 
not  blood-thirstiness  but  more  blind  instinct 
than  anything  else,  which  caused  me  to 
whip  out  my  revolver  like  a  flash  when  the 
poor  little  innocent  chipmunk  ran  down  the 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  51 

tree  to  the  left  of  me  and  sat  up  in  a  squir- 
rel's cute  and  pretty  way  on  the  pinnacle  of 
a  rock. 

^'But  when  I  come  to  the  squirrel,  my 
story  of  how  I  came  near  being  lost  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  walking  toward  the 
Snowy  Range,  with  nightfall  not  far  away, 
practically  arrives  at  a  happy  conclusion, 
for  the  little  squirrel  was  sent  by  a  kind 
Providence,  I  have  always  believed,  merely 
to  make  me  turn  my  head  to  the  left,  and 
gaze  intently  in  that  direction,  for  as  I  did 
so,  and  blazed  away  at  the  poor  little  chip- 
munk with  my  revolver  (missing  him,  I  am 
thankful  to  say — so  far  as  I  know — for  it 
would  have  seemed  sad  to  me  if  I  had  shot 
and  killed  the  very  instrument  of  a  kind 
Providence,  which,  I  believe,  certainly 
saved  me  much  trouble  and  pain,  and  per- 
haps saved  my  life),  as  I  turned  to  the  left 
and  shot  at  the  chipmunk,  I  saw,  through 
the  trees  and  bushes,  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  about  a  hundred  feet,  perhaps,  further 


52  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

down  the  mountain-side,  the  top  of  the  stone 
chimney  of  the  cabin!  You  bet  it  was  a 
grateful  sight!  I  felt  sure  at  once  from  the 
description  that  Krupp  had  given  me  that 
it  could  be  no  other  than  Cap.'s  old  cabin, 
and  so  it  proved.  I  v^as  saved  by  a  kind 
Providence,  it  seemed,  that  sent  the  squirrel 
scampering  down  the  tree  just  at  the  right 
time  to  make  me  find  the  cabin.  A  few 
moments  earlier  or  later  would  not  have  an- 
swered the  purpose.  It  had  to  be  just  about 
that  very  particular  identical  moment,  and 
if  a  squirrel  had  run  down  a  tree  to  the  right 
of  me,  or  in  front  of  or  behind  me,  it  would 
not  have  answered  either.  In  either  of 
these  supposititious  events  I  can  see  myself 
walking  on  and  on — and  then,  with  night- 
fall, building  up  a  campfire  and  sitting 
lonely  beside  it,  hungry  and  weary,  yet 
scarcely  daring  to  sleep  for  fear  of  wild 
creatures  that  might  be  peering  at  me 
through  the  bushes  or  from  the  branches  of 
a  tree  over  my  head  or  near  at  hand,  as  I 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  53 

sat  by  the  fire — a  hungry  wildcat,  perhaps, 
or  a  mountain-lion,  or  a  bear — who  if  I  had 
fallen  asleep  and  the  fire  had  got  low  or 
gone  out,  might  have  made  a  meal  out  of 
poor  Petrie  Pastorius,  and  all  his  grand 
twentieth-century  dreams  and  ambitions 
come  to  a  sudden  and  terrible  ending,  and 
I  should  not  in  that  case,  be  telling  this  yarn 
here  to-night." 

''You  bet  you  wouldn't,"  said  Muggins, 
with  his  usual  oracular  shake  of  the  head. 


"Muggins,"  queried  Cap.,  banteringly, 
"do  you  believe  in  Special  Providences?" 

"I  refuse  t'  answer,  as  't  might  incrimi- 
nate me,  as  they  say  in  Court,"  returned 
Mr.  Muggins,  grinning,  "but  I  know  Pete 
'11  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  I'll  bet  he  w^as 
keepin'  a  purty  sharp  lookout  for  th'  cabin 
about  that  time  in  every  direction  there 
was,  an'  more  too,  if  possible;  an'  I'll  merely 
remark   parenthetically,    in    relation   t'    th' 


54  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

fact  o'  Pete's  failin'  t'  shoot  th'  squirrel, 
that  squirrel  pot-pie  is  good!'' 

''You  bet  it  is!"  Cap.  agreed. 

''I  won't  deny  ut,"  declared  Johnson, 
^^ut's  good." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Pete,  ''but  I  would  not  have 
eaten  that  squirrel,  I  don't  believe,  if  I  had 
killed  it,  which  I  am  thankful  I  didn't, — 
for  as  I  say,  I  believe  it  was  sent  by  a  kind 
Providence." 

"Neither  would  I,"  said  Cap.  "I 
wouldn't  have  eaten  it  either,  under  the 
circumstances — but  Muggins  would,  I'm 
afraid." 

'Wo,  /  wouldn't''  returned  Muggins, 
"that's  where  you're  wrong,  Cap.,  I 
wouldn't  have  eaten  it  under  th*  circum- 
stances, for  I  couldn't  even  if  I  would — for 
one  o'  th'  circumstances  that  Pete  was  up 
against  was,  it  seems,  that  whereas  he  shot 
at  th'  squirrel,  he  nevertheless  failed  t'  hit 
it;  an'  I  have  a  rule  I  never  break.  Cap., — 
I  never  'skin  my  hare  till  I  catch  it.'  " 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  55 

''Those  Longmont  grocers  do  know  a 
thing  or  two''  Cap.  remarked  in  a  very 
audible  tone  aside  to  Johnson,  ''they  know 
how  to  spit  a  hole  in  the  snow,  and  they 
know  how  to  come  in  out  of  the  rain,  and 
two  or  three  other  things  besides,  it  seems." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Muggins,  "see  Cap. 
squirm! — I  beat  him  that  time  an'  he  don't 
like  't  one  bit! — Come,  now.  Cap.,  be  good, 
an'  take  a  good  bracin'  drink  o'  that  molasses 
an'  water  an'  then  tell  us  a  good  long  story 
before  we  go  t'  bed.  Indians  or  mountain- 
lions — I  don't  care  a  cuss  which — anything 
so  it's  hot — Give  us  th'  hot  stuflf !  an'  a  good 
long  one!" 

"Not  to-night!"  cried  Cap.  testily. 

He  was  lolling  lazily  back  in  his  chair, 
and  looked  as  if  he  felt  more  like  going  to 
sleep  than  telling  a  story.  "Muggins, 
you're  talking  through  your  hat!"  cried 
he,  "you're  always  trying  to  make  a  man  do 
something  that  he  don't  want  to!  I  don't 
know  any  story  to  tell  to-night,  gentlemen 


56  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

— I'm  going  to  beg  off  like  Johnson.  I  tell 
you  what  I'll  do,  Pete — if  you'll  tell  my 
story  for  me  to-night,  I'll  bake  a  big  batch 
of  biscuits  for  breakfast,  and  we'll  have  hot 
biscuits  to  eat  along  with  those  trout  you're 
going  to  fry  us  as  usual,  I  hope,  and  then 
with  that  good  cup  of  coffee  Muggins 
knows  how  to  make,  and  some  of  Johnson's 
venison  that  I'll  cook  myself,  besides  bak- 
ing the  biscuits — and  Johnson  can  peel  a 
mess  of  potatoes  for  me  to  fry,  if  he  will, 
and  also  cut  the  firewood,  and  then  we'll 
have  a  scrumptious  breakfast!" 

"Take  him  up,  Pete — it's  another  sure 
thing!"  quoth  Muggins,  "you'll  never  re- 
gret it.  Cap.'s  biscuits  can't  be  beat  (if  I 
do  say  't  t'  his  face)  !"  (Cap.  rose  and  bowed 
to  Muggins.)  "I'd  a  darnsight  sooner  eat  his 
biscuits  than  hear  'im  tell  a  story  any  day. 
Some  o'  his  stories  he's  told  us  so  often  that 
he  almost  believes  'em  himself.  I'll  take 
that  back.  Cap.,"  he  added  quickly,  and 
quite  seriously  too,  for  he  knew  well  that 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  57 

Cap.  didn't  like  a  joke  like  that,  and  it  was 
never  quite  safe  to  make  such  a  joke  with 
him. 

'Tou  better,"  retorted  Cap.,  trying  to  say 
it  good-naturedly,  ''or  you  won't  get  any  of 
my  biscuits  for  breakfast." 

Then  there  were  just  a  few  moments  of 
strained  silence. 

''I  kin  reckermend  Cap.'s  biskits  me- 
self,  Pete,"  spoke  up  Johnson  diplomatic- 
ally, ''ye  never  ate  any  better;  I  advise  ye 
t'  axcipt  'is  offer,  Pete — an'  I  hope  ye  do, 
fur  our  sakes,  ef  not  fur  yer  own.  Slap- 
jacks is  all  right,  but  a  man  gets  tired  0' 
almost  anything  ef  he  has  t'  eat  ut  too  often 
hand-runnin'.  I  hope  ye  axcipt  Cap.'s 
offer,  Pete,  frum  me  heart  I  do!" 

"Why,  Pete,  ye've  got  t'  do  'tl"  exclaimed 
Muggins,  waking  up  to  the  gravity  of  the 
situation — the  alternative  of  old  greasy 
slapjacks  or  Cap.'s  nice  light  hot  biscuits, 
baked  in  the  oven  of  the  little  cooking 
range  which  Mrs.   Krupp  had  persuaded 


58  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

her  husband  to  pack  in  to  the  cabin  over 
the  rough  mountain-trail  for  the  short  time 
that  she  and  her  husband  lived  there  before 
Barnes  was  taken  in  as  a  partner.  ''Say, 
Pete,"  he  continued,  wildly,  ''are  ye  goin' 
t'  cheat  us  all  out  of  our  hot  biscuits?" 

*^All  right,"  cried  Pete,  laughing,  "I  ac- 
quiesce. I'll  do  my  best.  Here  is  my  story 
(and  you  must  admit,  Muggins,  that  it 
sounds  kind  of  warm  to  begin  with,  any- 
way) : 

"  ^BEAUTIFUL  MADELINE, 

THE   BIG   swede's  DAUGHTER; 

A  TALE  OF  CLOUD-CAPPED  LEADVILLE.' 

"Leadville,  that  makes  her  eagle's  nest 
among  the  clouds,^  is  yet  by  no  means  more 
like  heaven  on  that  account,  gentlemen,  as 
you  are  all  probably  aware,  and  as  I  was 

1  The  altitude  of  Leadville  is  10,200  feet,  and  it  has  about 
12,455  inhabitants  (1900).  It  is  80  miles  by  rail  southwest 
of  Denver,  and  its  annual  production  of  metals  amounts  to 
$10,000,000. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  59 

entering  that  city  for  the  first  time  with 
an  old  Leadville  acquaintance  (a  printer 
named  Jack  Lafarge)  Jack  suddenly  called 
my  attention,  as  we  walked  along,  to  a  big, 
fine-looking  blond  woman,  w^ho  was  sitting 
alone  behind  a  colored  coachman  driving  a 
pair  of  high-stepping  horses  to  a  stylish 
drag  up  the  street  we  were  on  and  coming 
directly  toward  us. 

''  'A  very  stylish  turn-out,  all  round,'  I 
said,  after  the  team  had  dashed  past  us, 
Very  swell,  she's  a  good-looking  woman, 
too,  that  woman  is — who  is  she?' 

''  That's  th'  '^Big  Swede."  ' 

''  The  ^'Big  Swede,"  '  I  repeated,  Veil, 
who  is  she?     I  never  heard  of  her  before?' 

''  'Well,  you'll  hear  a  lot  about  'er  if  ye 
stay  in  Leadville  long,'  replied  Jack.  ^An' 
if  ye  ever  waken  up  at  night  an'  hear  th' 
pistols  poppin'  over  there  on  th'  hill,  why, 
you'll  prob'ly  hear  some  one  say  th'  next 
mornin'  that  ''there  was  a  shootin'-bee  up 
at  th'  'Big  Swede's'  last  night."  ' 


6o  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

^^  ^Does  she  keep  a  saloon?'  I  asked. 

''  ^No,  a  dance-hall.  Oh,  there's  a  bar 
there  o'  course,  an'  a  card-room,  an'  var- 
ious other  games.' 

^'  'She  must  be  rich,  at  any  rate,  to  drive  a 
swell  rig  like  that.' 

"'She  is  rich:  She's  money  in  th'  bank. 
She  has  a  good  gold-mine,  too — "Treasure 
Trove"  she  calls  't — an'  she  runs  't  'erself, 
dresses  up  like  a  man  when  at  'er  mine  an' 
goes  through  't  regularly  ev'ry  day — she's 
the  reg'lar  superintendent  of  't  as  well  as 
th'  owner.  Captain  Randall,  a  rich  duck 
here,  offered  'er  fifty  thousand  dollars  for 
'er  mine  an'  she  turned  'is  offer  down  al- 
most afore  it  was  out  o'  his  mouth,  'e  says. 
They  say  a  hundred  thousand  plunks  is 
more  like  what  it's  worth,  an'  they  say  that 
old  Randall  knew  't  d — d  well,  too.' 

"  'I'm  right  glad  I  met  you.  Jack,'  said 
I,  'for  you've  posted  me  up  a  little  on  Lead- 
ville.  What's  the  "Big  Swede's"  right 
name?' 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  6i 

^^  ^God-'lmighty  only  knows  that,  Pete,' 
returned  Jack.  ^She's  always  just  called  th' 
^'Big  Swede."  But  some  people  say  that 
she's  th'  wife  of  a  man  named  Rhinehart, 
a  mysterious  individual  'at  comes  gallopin' 
out  o'  th'  mountains  at  night  on  a  beautiful 
gray  horse,  about  once  a  week,  puts  up  at 
th'  Continental  Hotel,  th'  best  hotel  in 
Leadville,  ye  know,  goes  up  t'  th'  ''Big 
Swede's"  an'  spends  th'  evenin'  in  'er  private 
apartments  on  th'  second  floor  where  no 
other  visitor  but  'im  is  ever  allowed  t'  en- 
ter, comes  back  to  th'  hotel  about  midnight 
— an'  a  little  after  that,  leaves  th'  hotel  an' 
rides  swiftly  off  on  'is  beautiful  gray  horse. 
I've  seen  'im  leave  th'  hotel  a  thousan' 
times  meself,  Pete,  just  as  I've  described, 
for  midnight's  th'  time,  ye  know,  that  we 
mornin'  paper  men  come  t'  th'  hotel  for  our 
midnight-lunch,  an'  he's  as  fine  a  lookin' 
man,  too,  as  ye  ever  saw — big  an'  tall  an' 
handsome,  dark  eyes  an'  hair,  swell  mus- 
tache,   an'    always   shaved   nice   an'   clean, 


62  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

quite  a  dandy,  an'  wears  a  gray  corduroy 
suit  an'  fancy  foots  an'  big  spurs,  an'  gray 
slouch-hat — oh,  he  looks  th'  gentleman,  he 
does,  don't  you  fear!  in  ev'ry  way.  An'  al- 
most every  time  that  you'll  hear  th'  '^Big 
Swede's"  name  mentioned  by  anybody 
about  these  diggin's,  you'll  almost  always 
hear  'em  say  somethin'  about  Beautiful 
Madeline,    the    ''Big    Swede's"    daughter.' 

"  'Is  she  a  dance-hall  girl?'  I  queried. 

^'Jack  looked  horrified. 

"  ^Well,  I  should  say  not!'  he  answered 
emphatically.  'Why,  Pete,'  said  he,  hook- 
ing one  of  his  fingers  into  the  button-hole 
of  my  coat,  so  that  I  could  not  by  any  pos- 
sibility break  away  till  he  had  got  it  said, 
'maybe  ye  won't  believe  me! — But  everyone 
in  these  here  diggin's  knows  it's  th'  gospel 
truth! — that  there  girl  is  the  most  beautiful 
girl  ye  ever  saw!  an  just  as  good  as  she  is 
beautiful!' 

"  'Does  she  live  up  there  in  the  ^'Big 
Swede's"      dance-hall      along     with     her 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  63 

mother?'  I  asked,  giving  him  a  quick 
glance. 

^^^She  dont  live  up  there  in  th'  dance- 
hall  with  'er  mother!'  protested  Jack,  'not 
herr 

^'Indeed,  Jack  showed  so  much  feeling 
about  it  that  he  actually  seemed  on  the 
point  of  bursting  into  tears,  so  that  it  was 
impossible  to  doubt  his  sincerity. 

''  'It's  God-'lmighty's  honest  truth  I'm 
tellin'  ye,  Pete!'  he  asseverated  solemnly, — 
Whatever  th'  ''Big  Swede"  may  be  ye 
can't  prove  it  by  me — an'  Captain  Randall 
says  he's  been  in  her  dance-hall  several 
times  on  business  an'  never  saw  nothin'  out 
o'  th'  way,  though  th'  Methodist  Church 
people  say  it's  th'  mouth  o'  hell — so  ye  can 
take  your  choice.  But  ye  won't  find  no- 
body in  Leadville  t'  dispute  that  Madeline's 
as  good  a  girl  as  ever  breathed  th'  breath 
o'  life!  I  don't  suppose  'at  she  an'  'er 
mother  've  met  in  many  years,  Pete!  Beau- 
tiful   Madeline    lives    on    a    ranch — "Sky 


64  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

Farm"  is  the  name  of  't.     It's  a  mile  or  so 

from  City,  which  is  two  V  three 

stations  afore  ye  come  to  Leadville  on  th' 
railroad  goin'  west,  ye  know.  It's  a  very 
purty    country    down    there,    too,    around 

City,  as  p'raps  ye  noticed  when  ye 

came  by  on  th'  train!' 

^'  'Yes,  I  remember  it  well,'  said  I,  4t 
was  as  beautiful  as  a  dream,  Jack,  and  I 
felt  like  getting  off  there,  but  I  knew  there 
were  no  big  metropolitan  daily  papers 
there  and  the  depletion  in  my  exchequer 
was  such'  (tapping  my  pocket  with  a 
smile)  'that  I  felt  I  must  hurry  on  to  Lead- 
ville where  more  chance  of  typesticking 
was  to  be  had.' 

"  Well,  first  chance  ye  get,  ye  must  take 
a  trip  down  there,'  he  continued;  'I  go  down 
there  quite  often  meself.  Th'  altitude 
down  there  is,  o'  course,  not  near  so  high 
as  up  here  in  Leadville,  an'  they  raise  good 
crops  down  there — wheat  and  hay,  princip- 
ally, I  think — an'  trees  an'  flowers  an'  grass 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  65 

grow  there  about  as  well  as  anywhere,  but 
Leadville's  too  high  for  much  vegetation. 
I  know  they  raise  wheat  down  there,  for 
one  thing,  on  ''Sky  Farm,"  for  I've  worked 
there  meself  more'n  once  at  harvest  time, 
an'  helped  'em  t'  harvest  th'  wheat,  when 
I  could  get  no  work  in  Leadville  at  settin' 
type.  The  country's  so  purty  down  there 
'at  excursions  run  from  Leadville  down 
there  on  Sundays  an'  other  holidays  durin' 
th'  summer.  But  here's  th'  Record  office, 
where  I'm  workin'  now,  Pete,'  exclaimed 
Jack  suddenly,  stopping  before  a  building 
which  bore  a  sign  reading  ^The  Leadville 
Daily  Record/  'an'  I  must  go  up  an'  go  t' 
work.  By  th'  way,  Petel'  he  shouted  back 
at  me  from  the  doorway,  'your  friend,  New- 
lin,  is  here — been  in  town  for  two  weeks — 
you'll  meet  'im,  most  likely,  if  ye  stay 
awhile! — He's  workin'  on  th'  Evening 
TimesT 

"So  Jack  and  I  parted,  and  I  did  not  see 
him    again   for   several    days.     But,    as   he 


66  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

predicted,  I  did  hear  quite  often  (as  I 
went  back  and  forth  through  the  town)  of 
the  ^Big  Swede'  and  of  her  beautiful 
daughter,  Madeline;  and  I  also  was  so 
fortunate  as  to  meet  my  good  friend,  New- 
lin,  as  well,  the  very  next  day.  Newlin 
was  a  big  Cornell  graduate  whom  I  had  got 
acquainted  with  down  in  Denver,  and  our 
greetings  were  most  cordial. 

^^ 'Glad  to  see  you,  old  man!'  I  cried 
heartily  as  we  shook  hands  warmly. 

'''The  same  to  you!'  he  returned  with 
seemingly  equal  fervor,  as  glad  to  meet  me 
apparently  as  I  to  meet  him. 

"  'Where's  your  chum?'  I  asked. 

"(This  chum  of  his,  who  was  a  surveyor 
by  profession,  was,  if  anything,  a  heavier 
man  even  than  Newlin  himself,  and  they 
were  both  about  six  feet  tall  and  broad  in 
proportion,  and  both  about  twenty-five 
years  of  age,  I  should  judge.  In  Denver, 
though  really  no  relation,  they  were  some- 
times called  the  'Big  Twins.') 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  67 

^'  'Oh,  ''the  loppus,"  you  mean? — Why, 
he's  in  luck  it  seems.  We  came  up  here  to- 
gether two  weeks  ago.  But  after  a  week 
of  hunting  for  work  here,  he  gave  up  the 
search  in  disgust,  and  "slid"  down  to  Den- 
ver again — and  now  last  night  he  writes  me 
he's  struck  a  steady  Government  job  of  office 
work  surveying  in  Denver  at  five  dollars 
a  day!' 

"'Good  for  him!'  I  cried. 

"'Yes,  it's  fine!  By  the  way,  Pastorius, 
though  I'm  sorry  to  say  it  now  you're  here, 
I  return  to  Denver  to-night' 

"'The  dickens  you  do!'  I  ejaculated, 
'sorry  for  that! — though  I'm  uncertain  how 
long  I'll  stay  here  myself,  to  be  sure. 
What's  your  hurry?' 

"  'Oh,  I've  been  sticking  type  on  the 
Evening  Times,  but  the  job  played  out  to- 
day,— the  fellow  I  was  "substituting"  for 
has  come  back,  you  see.  And,  besides,  they 
want  me  back  right  away  at  my  old  job 
in  Denver.    So  there  you  are.     I  leave  here 


68  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

to-night.     Have  you  caught  on  here  yet?' 

"  'No,  not  yet' 

''  'I  hope  I'll  see  you  down  in  Denver 
again  soon.' 

''  'Not  soon,'  I  returned,  'for  I'm  headed 
the  other  way — to  Grand  Junction,  the 
other  side  the  Range.  I'm  thinking  of  pre- 
empting a  ranch  in  the  Grand  Valley,  Mesa 
County,  on  the  old  Indian  Reservation, 
near  Grand  Junction.' 

"  'Oh!  and  in  a  few  months  more  now  I 
hope  to  start  for  the  San  Juan  country  and 
open  an  assayer's  office  there — there's  a 
rattling  big  boom  down  there,  they 
say!' 

"'Such  is  life!'  I  cried,  as  we  shook 
hands  good-bye:  'Over  the  Range  where 
the  Indians  are,  for  me! — one  of  Uncle 
Sam's  free  farms  for  me!'  and  with  a  laugh 
I  threw  up  my  right  arm  dramatically  in 
mock-heroics. 

"'San  Juan  or  bu'st  for  me!'  cried 
Newlin,    in    the    same    mock-heroic    vein, 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  69 

laughing.  And  then  wishing  each  other 
good  luck  we  separated  in  high  good 
humor  and  with  much  laughter,  as  young 
men  will,  with  all  their  life  before  them, 
never  to  meet  again  to  this  day. 

^'When  I  met  Jack  Lafarge  a  few  days 
after  this,  and  remarked  that  I  was  getting 
tired  of  loafing  round  Leadville,  he  sud- 
denly seemed  to  have  an  inspiration  strike 
him. 

''  'I  tell  ye  what  I'd  do,  Pete,  if  I  was 
you!'  exclaimed  he  enthusiastically,  'just 
what  IVe  done  more'n  once  meself  in  like 
circumstances.  They're  workin'  with  their 
wheat  right  now  down  on  ''Sky  Farm" — I 
know  they  are,  for  they've  an  advertisement 
for  help  in  this  very  mornin's  Record — I 
set  the  type  of  it  up  meself  last  night.  O' 
course  the  pay  is  on'y  mod'rate — a  dollar  a 
day  an'  yer  board — but  ye  might  do  worse 
easy.  I'd  take  it,  if  I  was  you — I'd  hustle 
down  there  on  th'  first  train  an'  ketch  on  t' 
th'  job  if  ye  can.     What  d'  ye  say?' 


70  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

'^The  idea  struck  me  favorably.  It  was 
^something,'  and  'something'  beats  nothing 
any  day. 

'^  'Any  port  in  a  storm,  Jack,'  I  cried,  'as 
the  sailors  say.  Thank  you  for  the  sug- 
gestion; I'll  go!' 

"  'Got  th'  price  of  a  ticket — fifty  cents?' 
inquired  he,  'I  can  lend  ye  a  dollar  if — ' 

"  'Thank  you.  Jack,  but  that's  all  right,' 
I  returned — 'I've  got  a  fiver  yet,  thank 
heaven!  I'll  pull  through  all  right — thank 
you  all  the  same!' 

"  'I  lost  a  twenty  at  poker  up  at  th'  "Big 
Swede's"  last  night,'  said  he,  'but  I'll  beat 
that  squint-eyed  sharper  o'  hers  an'  get  it 
back  again  to-night,  or  I'll  know  th'  reason 
why! — I've  got  another  one  yet,'  and  he 
held  up  a  twenty-dollar  gold-piece. 

"  'Put  it  in  the  bank,  Jack,'  said  I,  look- 
ing at  my  watch.     It  was  three  o'clock. 

"  'The  train  leaves  for City  quar- 
ter to  five,  Pete,'  said  Jack,  returning  his 
coin  to  his  pocket.     'I  must  go  round  t'  th' 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  71 

office  an'  "throw  in"  a  little  type,  an'  you 
can  be  packin'  yer  grip — I'll  come  down  t' 
th'  station  an'  see  ye  off.' 

''So  with  that  Jack  walked  off  and  I 
hurried  to  my  room  to  pack  my  valise  (my 
trunk  was  still  at  the  station). 

^'Now  as   I  sat  in  the  train  for  

City  at  about  half-past  four,  up  rushed  Jack 
to  the  open  car-window  where  I  was  lean- 
ing out  and  watching  for  him. 

"  'I  hope  ye  ketch  on,  Pete'  said  he,  'I 
hope  ye  get  th'  job.  By  th'  way,  Pete,'  he 
continued,  'you'll  have  very  aristocratic 
company  if  ye  do — did  I  tell  ye?' 

'"No;  who?' 

"  'Why,  Lord  Archibald  Glendenning!' 

"  'What  are  you  giving  me.  Jack?'  said  I. 

"'It's  true! — it's  true!'  returned  Jack. 
'Lord  Archie  is  the  real  thing,  you  bet! 
He's  a  reel  lord — an  English  lord,  he  is — 
an'  rich,  too.' 

"  'How  do  you  know?'  I  asked. 

"'Why,    all   Leadville   knows   't!'   cried 


72  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

Jack,  ^d'  ye  s'pose  a  reel  English  lord 
could  hide  himself? — He  has  t'  go  t'  bank, 
don't  he?  Oh,  there  ain't  no  doubt — he's 
reel,  you  needn't  fear.  An'  he'll  be  there  at 
"Sky  Farm" — he's  in  love  with  Madeline, 
that's  it! — an'  he's  hired  out  as  a  harvest- 
hand  at  '^Sky  Farm"  just  so's  to  be  near  'er! 
He's  hired  out  to  help  'em  in  with  their 
wheat-harvest  again  this  year  as  he  did  last 
year  when  I  was  there — but  they'll  want 
one  more  hand,  I  think, — they  did  last 
year — an'  I  hope  you  ketch  on.  Madeline 
'Brown  is  her  name.  Bill  Brown  owns  th' 
ranch  an'  she  goes  with  th'  Browns  every- 
where. I  suppose  they're  related.  Made- 
line does  th'  cookin' — did  I  tell  ye?' 

"  ^No,'  I  returned. 

"  'Well,  she  does,  an'  it's  the  wonder  o' 
the  hull  neighborhood,  her  cookin',  I  can 
tell  ye — it's  th'  best  I  I  never  ate  such  pies 
in  me  life — the  pie-crust  just  melts  in  yer 
mouth  (not  but  what  there's  plenty  of  it, 
too!)  Why,  half  th'  swells  in  Leadville  are 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  73 

in  love  with  that  girl,  Pete! — not  t'  speak 
o'  the  men  in  th'  mines — an'  as  for  th'  farm- 
hands for  miles  round  '^Sky  Farm"  they're 
crazy  about  'er — she  refused  dozens  of  'em 
afore  Lord  Archie  came  on  th'  field.  She's 
had  more  offers  of  marriage  than  ye  can 
shake  a  stick  at,  Pete!  Lord  Archie  ain't 
th'  on'y  one,  I  can  tell  ye!  P'raps  ye  can 
cut  'im  out,  Pete.  I  look  for  nothin'  else 
but  you'll  fall  in  love  with  her,  too.  /  did, 
but  I  didn't  have  no  chance,'  and  Jack 
smiled  a  sickly  smile. 

^'  'All  aboard!'  cried  the  conductor. 

'''Well,  good-bye,  Pete! — good  luck!' 
and  Jack  waved  me  a  farewell  with  his 
hand. 

"  'Good-bye,  Jack,'  I  returned  warmly, 
'and  I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  kind- 
ness. Here,  have  a  cigar!'  and  I  managed 
to  reach  him  one  just  as  the  train  rolled 
away.  (I  was  flush  with  cigars  just  then, 
for  I  had  received  a  box  of  fragrant  Ha- 
vanas  a  short  time  before — a  birthday  pres- 


74  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

ent  from  one  of  my  brothers  back  East.) 
'Well,  gentlemen,  I  slept  that  night  at 
'Sky  Farm,'  for  they  did  want  another  hand 
there,  as  Jack  thought,  and  I  got  the  job, 
and  my  bedfellow  was  the  regular  farm- 
hand on  the  place.  I  slept  with  him  in  his 
room,  and  the  distinguished  occupant  of 
the  guest-room  (which  was  immediately 
next  to  ours)  was  none  other  than  that 
young  English  nobleman,  Lord  Archibald 
Glendenning,  Madeline  Brown's  declared 
lover  and  suitor  for  her  hand. 

''  'Sky  Farm'  ! — Ah,  gentlemen,  it  is  a 
very  pretty  picture  that  rises  up  before  me 
in  my  mind  as  I  speak  those  words! — The 
pretty  red-roofed  farm-house,  surrounded, 
as  is  usually  the  case,  as  you  know,  on  the 
ranches  of  Colorado  (the  /<3:rm-ranches,  as 
perhaps  I  might  term  them,  to  distinguish 
them  from  c^///^-ranches)  by  a  grove  of 
high  trees ;  the  yellow  fields  of  wheat  wav- 
ing in  the  sun!  (and  is  any  wheat  so  golden 
as    the    wheat    of     Colorado's    mountain 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  75 

ranches?)  Or  is  the  sun  anywhere  quite 
so  bright,  and  the  sky  so  blue  anywhere  on 
God's  footstool  as  in  those  beauty-spots? 
Or  is  it  only  by  contrast  with  the  great,  pic- 
turesque leviathan-backed,  snowy-peaked 
mountains  which  wall  them  round,  that 
they  seem  so?  It  may  be  partly  imagina- 
tion, but  it  always  seemed  to  me  that  in  the 
rarefied  air  of  those  high  altitudes  all  the 
colors  and  shapes  in  earth  and  sky  are 
brighter  and  clearer.  Even  down  in  Den- 
ver the  sunrise  and  sunset  are  gorgeous  be- 
yond description,  and  the  higher  one  gets, 
it  seems  to  me,  the  more  gorgeous  the  colors 
become. 

^'But  even  on  'Sky  Farm,'  gentlemen, 
there  was  only  one  angel!  No,  she  was  not 
an  angel,  of  course — I  don't  mean  that:  In 
this  wicked  world  there  are  no  angels. 
But  she  was  a  good  woman,  and  a  beautiful 
one,  and  a  sensible  one,  which  is  next-door 
to  an  angel! 

''Every  story,  as  a  general  rule,  as  you 


76  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

know,  gentlemen, — as  well  as  every  drama, 
every  painting, — must  have  its  sunshine 
and  its  shadow.  For  such  is  life,  as  a  rule, 
though  in  Heaven  we  believe  that  it  is 
different. 

^^To  be  candid  with  you,  gentlemen,  I 
feel  the  greatest  temptation  in  the  world 
right  now  to  take  a  sponge  and  wipe  com- 
pletely ofif  my  slate,  as  it  were,  all  the 
shadows  in  this  story  wherever  they  appear! 
But  perhaps  if  I  did  so,  I  would  be  doing 
harm  rather  than  good,  for  then  it  would 
not  be  a  true  picture  of  life  as  I  found  it; 
and  would  it  not  then  be  somewhat  as  if 
that  great  ancient  Greek  poet,  Homer,  ac- 
counted as  you  know  one  of  the  greatest 
story-tellers  of  either  the  ancient  or  modern 
world,  had  wiped  off  his  slate  'Circe,'  the 
wicked  enchantress,  you  remember,  who 
turned  the  companions  of  'Ulysses'  into 
swine?  But  if  indeed  in  all  the  modern 
world  outside  this  little  scene  I  am  delineat- 
ing here,  there  were  no  counterpart — if  this 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  77 

were  indeed  an  exception  to  all  the  rest  of 
the  modern  world,  this  little  scene  the  only 
one  in  all  the  world  to-day  where  wicked- 
ness existed,  it  might  be  excusable  in  me 
perhaps  to  do  so, — but,  alas!  I  hardly 
think  I  have  that  excuse  for  wiping  the 
shadows  off  my  slate,  for,  I'm  very  much 
afraid,  gentlemen,  that  we  have  now  largely 
the  same  wicked  old  world  to  deal  with  to- 
day as  Homer  pictured  centuries  ago. 

^'Here,  then,  is  the  sunshine  of  my 
story! — Peaceful,  picturesquely  beautiful 
'Sky  Farm,'  with  beautiful  Madeline,  as 
good  as  she  was  beautiful,  and  her  manly 
and  true-hearted  lover,  the  handsome  young 
English  nobleman,  Lord  Glendenning. 
The  'Big  Swede's'  dance-hall  casts  the 
shadow. 

''Take  a  good  look  at  the  sunshine,  then, 
gentlemen,  and  enjoy  it,  so  you  can  better 
stand  the  shadow. 

"I  learned  several  interesting  things,  be- 
fore we  got  to  sleep  that  night,  from  my 


yS  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

roommate,  the  regular  hired  man,  who  was 
quite  a  good  sort  of  a  chap,  a  pious  Metho- 
dist, who  kept  himself  and  his  room  neat 
and  clean,  I  was  glad  to  find.  I  learned 
that  he  had  two  suits  of  blue  overalls  that 
he  worked  in,  and  one  was  always  clean  out 
of  the  wash  every  Monday  morning  for 
him  to  put  on  and  start  a  new  week's  work 
in.  I  learned  that  Mr.  Brown,  our  boss, 
was  'one  of  the  wickedest  men  in  the 
world!'  according  to  his  good  Methodist 
hired  man;  and  I  learned  that  the  boss's 
son,  Jacob,  was  only  'not  so  bad,  because  he 
didn't  know  yet  how  to  be — he  was  young 
yet,'  but  John  Wesley  Clements  (for  that 
was  the  hired  man's  name)  considered  him 
a  'chip  ofif  the  old  block'  and  only  'what  you 
might  expect.'  Lord  Archie  was  'good 
enough,'  thought  John,  'yes,  he  was  a  good 
fellow,  on  the  whole.  He's  all  right  at 
heart,  is  Lord  Archie,'  thought  John. 
'He  wouldn't  harm  his  worst  enemy 
unless     his     worst     enemy     deserved     it,' 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  79 

was  John's  opinion.  I  was  waiting 
quite  anxiously,  I'll  own,  to  see  if  he 
would  mention  Madeline  at  all  of  his  own 
volition.  After  a  bit  I  was  afraid  he 
would  drop  off  to  sleep  without  mentioning 
her,  so  I  said: 

"  'By  the  way,'  said  I,  'they  say  Miss 
Madeline  Brown  is  a  pretty  nice  sort  of  a 
girl — I  heard  so  up  in  Leadville.'  John 
didn't  answer  for  a  little  bit  and  then  he 
said  very  quietly  and  with  a  certain  soft- 
ness, I  thought: 

"  'Madeline?  Oh,  of  course  she's  nice. 
She's  as  good  as  she  can  be.  You  never  saw 
her?' 

"  'Never,'  I  returned,  adding  after  a 
little  pause: 

"  'A  fellow  up  in  Leadville  told  me  she 
was  the  most  beautiful  girl  he  ever  saw,  and 
as  good  as  she  was  beautiful — very  likely 
he  exaggerated  a  little  bit.' 

"  'No,  he  didn't — he  didn't  exaggerate  a 
bit!'    returned    John    warmly;    and    then 


8o  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

pretty  soon  in  that  soft  tone  of  voice  again, 
he  said,  ^She's  all  that — God  never  made  a 
prettier  girl  than  Madeline,  nor  a  better 
oneT 

''  'How  does  she  get  along  with  the  boss 
and  his  son,  then?'  I  queried  quickly. 

"'Well,  she  gets  along;  that's  all  I  can 
say.  You'll  see.  Mrs.  Brown's  influence 
is  good — she's  a  member  of  our  church — so 
is  her  daughter.  Besides,'  he  added,  'it's 
easier  for  her  of  late  because,  as  I  suppose 
you  know,  Lord  Archie  loves  her  and 
makes  no  secret  of  it  that  he's  asked  her  to 
marry  him.  They're  about  the  same  as  en- 
gaged, I  guess.  He's  rich.  Lord  Archie 
'd  die  for  her  any  day,  he  would, — I'll  say 
that  much  for  him!  But  who  wouldn't? 
I  guess  there  always  has  been  somebody 
about  to  pertect  her.  I've  been  here  ever 
since  she  has,'  said  John  simply,  but  with 
that  softness  again  and  also  a  tremble  in 
his  voice,  'an'  I  know  there  couldn't  no  man 
harm   her   against   her  will   while   /   was 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  8i 

around,  boss  or  no  boss  or  within  sound  of 
her  voice  neither!  That's  where  Lord 
Archie  and  I  agree.  'Stead  o'  hatin'  each 
other,  we  like  each  other  better  because — 
because  of  Madeline.'  And  John  com- 
menced to  snore  very  soon  after  this,  though 
I  don't  think  he  was  asleep.  However,  I 
went  to  sleep  so  soon  afterwards  myself 
that  I  cannot  say. 

^'The  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Madeline 
Brown  for  myself,  for  she  ate  w^ith  the 
family  as  wx  all  did,  which  is  not  so  unusual 
in  the  country,  I  think.  East  or  West,  as 
in  the  city.  Madeline  poured  the  coffee 
and  tea  for  us  all,  Mrs.  Brown  being  quite 
an  invalid,  I  understood.  Miss  Brown 
was  at  the  table,  I  believe,  but  I  do  not  re- 
member her. 

'Well,  Madeline  was  certainly  a  beauti- 
ful girl — strikingly  so — my  first  glance  told 
me  that.  She  was  neither  too  tall  nor  too 
short,  and  she  had  a  pretty  form,  too — well- 


82  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

molded,  perfectly  rounded,  but  not  too 
plump.  Her  cheeks  were  exquisitely  oval, 
and  with  a  fine  rosy  color.  She  had  brown 
hair  and  blue  eyes.  Her  face  was  beauti- 
fully molded,  too.  She  had  a  pretty  nose 
— not  Roman,  but  it  was  strong.  Her 
mouth  was  a  perfect  Cupid's  bow,  and  she 
had  an  uncommonly  sweet  smile. 

''  'Can  any  woman  be  an  unusually  good 
cook  and  not  be  a  fine  woman?'  I 
cogitated  as  I  ate  that  thoroughly  good 
breakfast  (perfectly  cooked,  everything  all 
right),  glancing  at  her  from  time  to  time! — 
No  man  who  remembers  with  fond  pride 
his  mother's  cooking,  and  then  thinks  of 
the  cooking  of  slovens  and  'don't  cares' 
which  he  has  been  so  often  obliged  to  eat, 
can  believe  it  possible.  A  fine  woman 
can't  do  the  slightest  thing,  even,  can  she, 
without  it  being  plain  to  the  discerning  eye 
that  she  is  a  fine  woman?  And  have  we 
not  all  seen  beautiful  women  with  spark- 
ling jewels   in  their  perfumed,  powdered 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  83 

hair  and  richly  and  perfectly  attired  in  one 
of  the  great  Parisian  dressmaker,  Worth's, 
incomparable  gowns,  perchance,  in  a 
splendid  ball-room,  but  did  you  ever  see  a 
pretty  woman  look  prettier  than  when 
dressed  in  a  simple  dress,  with  her  sleeves 
rolled  up,  making  bread,  or  doing  some 
simple  thing  like  that?  It  is  impossible 
for  a  woman  to  look  prettier  than  she  does 
when  engaged  at  some  such  w^ork  as  that, 
though  she  have  wealth  to  load  herself  with 
jewels  and  wear  the  finest  clothes!" 

^'Bravo!"  interjected  Cap.  enthusiastic- 
ally,'^that's  God's  truth!" 

^^Hurra!  that's  the  sort!"  came  from 
Johnson. 

Muggins  seemed  to  be  trying  to  think  of 
something  funny  to  say  for  a  moment,  then 
looked  serious  and  cried  out,  '^That's 
dead-right,  Pete, — that's  dead-right!  You 
hit  it  off  dead-right  that  time!" 

'Who  has  not  seen  some  poor  factory  girl, 
in   the   city,"    pursued    Pete,    warming  up 


84  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

with  his  theme,  "clad  in  a  cheap  dress,  and 
shabby  but  neat,  outshine  with  her  beauty 
and  grace  and  the  sweet,  gentle  spirit  with- 
in her  (none  of  which  can  be  hidden)  many 
a  grande-dame  of  wealth  and  fashion,  who 
passed  her  on  the  street!  We  men  some- 
times  look  at  a  woman  and  think:  'Could 
anything  be  more  inconsequential?'  eh, 
Cap.?" 

''You're  right,  my  boy!"  returned  Cap., 
"you're  right!" 

"And  then,"  continued  Pete,  "perhaps 
the  very  next  instant,  arises  before  us 
(from  we  scarcely  know  where,  unless  she 
dropped  down  out  of  heaven),  shining  like 
a  vision,  a  woman  of  a  far  different  type, 
and  we  poor  wretches  of  men  exclaim  in 
rapture:  'Is  it  an  angel?'  eh.  Cap.?" 

"You're  right  again,  Pete,"  agreed  Cap., 
"you're  dead-right!" 

"Yes,  Madeline  was  beautiful,"  went  on 
Pete,  "and  she  was  not  one  of  the  incon- 
sequential type,   I  need  scarcely  add,  but 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  85 

a  true  ministering  angel,  whose  prin- 
cipal vocation  it  was,  at  that  time,  to 
be  the  cook  and  maid-of-all-work  at  'Sky 
Farm.'  She  was  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
I  should  judge. 

''Lord  Glendenning  I  took  quite  a  liking 
to  also.  'They  are  a  fine  couple,'  I 
thought.  He  seemed  to  me  a  good  speci- 
men of  the  English  gentleman — fair-haired, 
florid,  and  he  had  gray  eyes.  He  looked  to 
be  about  six  feet  in  height,  and  was  broad- 
shouldered  and  well-proportioned.  'A 
handsome,  high-spirited  fellow,'  thought  L 

*' Young  Mr.  Brown  started  out  with  the 
reaper  for  the  wheat-field  soon  after  break- 
fast, and  John  and  I  followed  him  on  foot. 
Before  we  had  gone  far.  Lord  Glendenning 
caught  up  with  us  with  a  rapid  stride  (he 
had  stopped  to  talk  a  moment  wdth 
Madeline,  and  then  with  Mr.  Brown,  who 
remained  on  the  porch  and  did  not  go  to 
the  field  with  us). 

"  'Mr.   Brown  tells  me  that  you  are  a 


86  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

printer/  he  said,  coming  alongside  of  me, 
'and  acquainted  with  Jack  Lafarge/ 

''  'Yes,'  I  answered,  'that  is  true.  It  was 
Jack,  indeed,  who  put  me  "on"  to  this  job, 
— and  I'm  glad  I  came,  so  far, — that  break- 
fast was  "all  right."  It  beats  Leadville. 
It  beats  anything  I've  had  for  some  time.' 

"'Yes,  Madeline  is  an  "A  No.  i"  cook,' 
he  returned,  simply.  'I  quite  like  Lafarge,' 
he  continued,  after  a  pause. 

"  'Jack  is  a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  chap,'  I 
returned. 

"  'I  suppose,'  he  added  in  a  low  tone,  so 
that  John  could  not  hear,  'that  Lafarge  has 
"posted"  you  all  about  me  and  Madeline, 
and  various  other  town  topics?' 

"  'Oh,  he  told  me  a  little  bit,'  I  responded 
briefly. 

"  'Say, — I  beg  pardon,'  the  young  lord 
remarked  a  moment  afterward,  'but  what  is 
your  name,  if  I  might  ask?' 

"  'Mr.  Pastorius,'  I  answered,  smiling. 

"  'Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Pastorius,'  he 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  87 

returned,  in  a  manly,  free-and-easy  way,  ex- 
tending his  hand. 

''  'I'm  glad  to  meet  you  too.  Lord  Glen- 
denning,'  I  responded,  as  we  shook  hands. 

''  'Now,  I  want  to  say  right  off,  Mr. 
Pastorius,'  exclaimed  Lord  Glendenning, 
rather  abruptly,  'that  I  don't  want  my  title 
of  "lord"  to  be  a  stumbling-block  in  your 
way  all  the  time  in  conversation  with  me. 
Please  just  call  me  "Mr."  Glendenning, 
and  let  it  go  at  that.  That's  what  I  make 
all  my  American  acquaintances  do.' 

"  'AH  right,  "Mr."  Glendenning,'  I  said 
heartily,  'that  suits  me!' 

"And,  to  tell  the  truth,  gentlemen,  I 
was  really  very  glad  of  the  arrangement, 
for  I'm  afraid  if  I  had  thought  he  expected 
me  to  'my  lud'  or  'my  lord'  him — or 
whatever  they  say  in  England — every  time 
I  addressed  any  remark  to  him,  I  should 
not  have  spoken  to  him  very  much,  as  I 
certainly  should  have  spoken  to  him  when- 
ever I  did  speak,  precisely  as  I  would  speak 


88  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

to  an  American  gentleman,  with  no  'my 
lord's'  about  it,  for  I'm  not  built  that  way." 

''If  you  were  'built  that  way,'  you 
couldn't  go  on  with  your  story,  for  I 
wouldn't  let  you!"  cried  Cap.,  in  his  most 
decisive  tone  of  voice.  "Could  he,  John- 
son?" 

"Well,  I  ruther  guess  not!  It'd  be  a  d — d 
slim  chance  he'd  have,  I'm  thinkin'l  Even 
Muggins  there  wouldn't  stand  fur  't." 

"If  Muggins  did  stand  for  't,  we'd  throw 
him  out,  too,  eh,  Johnson?" 

"You  bet!"  from  Johnson. 

And  both  Cap.  and  Johnson  looked  kind 
of  sorry  that  there  wasn't  somebody  there 
that  needed  throwing  out.  Then  Cap. 
passed  Pete  the  jug,  and  after  they  all  had 
a  nip  out  of  it,  Pete  went  on  with  his  yarn. 

"  'I  have  to  make  myself  more  of  a  pub- 
lic character  than  I  like  in  paying  attentions 
to  Madeline,'  said  Lord  Glendenning,  'be- 
cause of  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  or 
they  would  kick  up  such  a  wretched  dust 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  89 

about  us  that  I  couldn't  stand  it  at  all.  So 
that  almost  everybody  knows  now  that  we 
are  engaged.  And  I  can  always  give  a  good 
reason  why  I  am  here  at  ^'Sky  Farm"  when- 
ever I  am  here.  I'm  getting  my  dollar  a 
day  and  board  right  now,  just  the  same  as 
you  are,  Mr.  Pastorius,'  said  he. 

^'  ^Are  printers  all  farmers?'  Lord  Archi- 
bald asked  me  with  a  smile,  after  we  had 
been  working  for  a  half  hour  or  so,  binding 
our  sheaves  of  wheat  pretty  handily,  for  all 
we  did  not  do  it  every  day,  or  even  once  in 
every  year. 

^^  Where'd  you  learn  this  trade?'  I  re- 
torted good-naturedly,  smiling  back  at  him. 

^^  'Here,'  said  he,  'Madeline  taught  me. — 
She's  quite  a  farmer  herself.  Sometimes  on 
a  farm,  you  know,  when  a  thunderstorm 
comes  up,  or  something  like  that,  the 
women-folks  have  to  rush  out  of  the  house 
and  help  the  men  harvest  the  crop — and  so 
she  ''knows  how,"  though  it  is  only  upon 
such  occasions,  of  course,  that  she  turns  her 


90  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

hand  to  it  as  a  usual  thing.  She  taught  me 
on  Sundays,  to  begin  with,  and  then  I  hired 
out  here  last  harvest,  and  worked  for  a 
couple  of  weeks.  And  when  the  threshing 
machine  comes  round  in  the  fall,  you  can 
usually  find  me  here,  too.  IVe  worked  at 
everything  around  a  thresher  except  carry- 
ing the  sacks  away.     I  balk  at  that.' 

^'  'I  don't  mind  that  job  if  one  only  has 
to  drag  them  away  a  little  distance,'  I  re- 
marked. 'That's  7ny  style — but  to  shoulder 
a  sack  of  wheat  and  carry  it  to  the  granary 
about  a  block  off  makes  me  feel  like  balking 
too,  though  I  have  done  it.' 

''  'It  is  very  seldom  that  Madeline  speaks 
of  her  mother,'  said  Lord  Glendenning, 
apropos  of  nothing,  after  we  had  worked 
near  together  in  silence  for  some  time,  'even 
to  me,  and  I  never  press  her  to  do  so,  but 
she  has  told  me,  however,  that  her  mother 
comes  of  a  good  family — her  blood,  indeed, 
is  of  the  best — hers  being  one  of  the  fam- 
ilies of  the  original  Swedish  Colony  of  Col- 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  91 

orado,  near  Boulder,  you  know.  And  her 
three  sisters  and  four  brothers  have  all  mar- 
ried well  as  to  money,  and  into  some  of  the 
best  families  of  the  State.'  The  young 
lord's  voice  had  begun  to  tremble,  and  he 
paused. 

''  ^I  have  had  some  acquaintance  with  the 
Swedish  Colony  near  Boulder,'  I  spoke  up 
quickly,  'and  my  recollections  of  it  are  of 
the  brightest  and  pleasantest,  I  am  glad  to 
tell  you.  With  a  number  of  farmers'  sons 
of  that  locality,  I  joined  a  threshing  crew 
one  season,  only  a  year  or  so  ago,  that 
threshed  out  the  Swedish  Colony's  wheat, 
as  well  as  the  Belgian  Colony's,  not  far 
away.  We  were  threshing  for  some  time  on 
De  Vreeze's  place — I  presume  you  have  at 
least  heard  of  him.' 

'''Oh,  I  know  him  well!'  exclaimed  the 
young  lord,  'I'm  chummy  with  the  whole 
family,  in  fact — and  a  very  charming  family 
they  are  too!' 

"  'I   thought  so  myself,  what  I  saw  of 


92  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

them,'  said  I.  'The  ladies  I  saw  little  of 
except  at  the  table.  Very  pretty  girls,  I 
thought,  and  the  boys  were  fine,  manly  fel- 
lows, whom  I  got  very  well  acquainted  with 
before  we  left.  I  can  readily  understand 
Miss  Brown's  being  such  a  fine  cook,'  I  con- 
tinued, 'coming  from  such  stock  as  that.  A 
better  table  than  we  threshers  enjoyed  those 
days  we  threshed  out  the  Swedish  Colony's 
wheat,  would  be  simply  impossible.  The 
cooking  was  of  the  best  and  if  the  table  had 
been  set  for  a  king,  I  cannot  see  how  it  could 
have  been  surpassed.  Always  plenty  of 
rich  cream,  always  two  great  pitchers  of 
milk,  one  at  each  end  of  the  long  table. 
There  was  always  the  great  roast  of  meat, 
and  fruit  and  fresh  vegetables  in  abundance. 
Absolutely  nothing  was  lacking,  and  an 
abundance  of  everything.  And  the  cook- 
ing, as  I  say,  was  of  the  best.  And  talk 
about  shouldering  sacks  of  wheat  and  carry- 
ing them  off  to  the  granary!  You  should 
have  seen  one  of  those  big  Swedes  do  it! 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  93 

Such  grace  and  great  strength  was  a  sight 
to  behold!  Graceful  dancing  has  been 
likened  to  a  strain  of  music,  and  it  was  like 
a  strain  of  music,  I  thought,  to  watch  that 
big  Swedish  farmer,  with  easy  grace,  shoul- 
der the  heavy  sacks  of  wheat  at  the  side  of 
the  thresher  and  stride  off  with  them  to  the 
granary  a  couple  of  blocks  away.  And  the 
Swedish  settlement  was  as  clean  as  wax — no 
dirt  or  unclean  smells  there,  I  can  tell  you, 
but  all  sweetness  and  light!  John  can  beat 
us  a  little  at  this  game  of  tying  up  wheat- 
sheaves  and  making  shocks  of  them,'  I  said, 
laughing,  after  a  pause  (we  were  going  on 
with  our  work  as  we  talked,  of  course), 
^but  I  can't  see  that  he's  doing  much  more 
than  we  are.  We  get  our  sheaves  done 
about  as  soon  as  he  does,  and  our  shocks 
too,  and  they  look  just  about  as  well!' 

"  ^He  knows  better  than  to  beat  us  by 
very  much,'  returned  Lord  Glendenning, 
^catch  him  beating  the  other  men  by  very 
much! — he  does  a  little  more — just  about 


94  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

enough  to  make  him  feel  sure  of  holding 
his  job,  even  if  we  did  want  to  get  it  away 
from  him.  And,  indeed,  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  often  envy  him,  I'll  admit,'  added  Lord 
Archie,  pensively,  'on  account  of  Madeline. 
He  loves  her,  too — does  John,  almost  as 
much  as  I  do,  if  not  quite,  I  believe.  He's 
in  luck,  he  is,  to  have  a  steady  job  here.' 

''At  about  ten  o'clock  Madeline  appeared 
with  a  pail  of  a  concoction  often  drank  also 
in  the  Pennsylvania  harvest  fields — (I  think 
the  ingredients  are  molasses  and  water  and 
a  little  vinegar,  and  a  little  cinnamon 
grated  in,  and  iced,  of  course).  It  tastes 
very  delicious  on  a  hot  day  in  the  harvest 
field.  Madeline  also  brought  us  each  a 
piece  of  angel-cake.  She  put  down  her  pail 
and  basket  under  a  tree  at  a  fence-corner, 
near  where  Lord  Glendenning  and  I  hap- 
pened to  be  working  at  the  moment,  and  we 
lost  no  time  in  getting  to  the  spot.  Lord 
Archie  in  two  or  three  long  jumps  and  a 
yell  like  an  Indian  warwhoop. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  95 

''  ^Oh,  how  you  frightened  me!'  she  cried 
with  heightened  color,  as  he  stood  before 
her. 

'Tord  Glendenning  looked  at  her  ador- 
ingly for  a  moment,  and,  indeed,  she  made  a 
very  pretty  picture,  in  her  pink  sun-bonnet 
and  white  apron,  with  her  rosy  cheeks  and 
cerulean-blue  eyes,  and  Cupid's-bow  mouth 
smiling  sweetly  at  him.  Then,  all  at  once, 
he  caught  hold  of  her  hands,  one  in  each  of 
his,  ^My  love!  my  life!'  I  heard  him  ejacu- 
late passionately,  in  the  low  voice  that 
women  love.  (And  I  don't  wonder  they 
love  it,  for  it  means  a  great  deal  to  a  woman 
when  the  man  she  loves  speaks  to  her  in  that 
love-impassioned  tone  of  voice.) 

"Madeline  blushed  furiously,  and  her 
voice  was  low  and  sweet  as  she  cried :  ^Oh, 
fie,  Archie!  You  know  that  that  is  against 
the  rule!  and  you  made  the  rule  yourself! 
— that  we  were  never  to  do  such  things  in 
public!'  Her  voice  trembled,  however,  as 
she  spoke,  and  she  smiled  very  sweetly  in 


96  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

her    great   happiness    in    spite    of    herself. 

^^  'Yes,  I  know  I  made  that  rule,'  the 
young  man  returned  penitently,  'and  we 
ought  not  to,  my  dear,  and  7nust  not,  but  I 
just  couldn't  help  it  this  time — forgive  me!' 

''She  handed  him  the  tin  ladle,  filled  with 
a  drink  out  of  the  pail  for  answer. 

"  'Let  me  introduce  you  to  Miss  Brown, 
Mr.  Pastorius,'  the  young  lord  said  to  me 
as  I  walked  up  to  the  pail,  'Miss  Brown, 
Mr.  Pastorius.  Mr.  Pastorius,  Miss 
Brown.' 

"  'I  am  pleased  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, Mr.  Pastorius,'  she  said  simply. 

"  'Thank  you.  Miss  Brown,'  I  returned, 
^and  I  am  also  very  much  pleased  to  make 
your  acquaintance.' 

"  'Thank  you,'  she  responded. 

"At  this  moment  young  Mr.  Brown 
walked  up,  and  shortly  afterward  John. 
And  after  each  of  us  had  had  two  or  three 
drinks  out  of  the  pail  along  with  our  piece 
of  angel-cake,  in  about  ten  minutes'  time, 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  97 

we  went  back  to  our  work  again  very  much 
refreshed,  and  pretty  Madeline  returned  to 
the  house. 

^'  'After  this  you  shall  always  have  a  pail 
of  the  drink  while  you  are  at  work/  she  had 
said  before  she  left,  adding,  'you  can  keep 
it  under  a  tree  or  in  the  shadow  of  a  shock 
of  sheaves,  and  with  a  big  piece  of  ice  in  it, 
a  pailful  will  nearly  last  you  through  the 
forenoon  and  another  pailful  for  the  after- 


noon. 


And  don't  forget  to  bring  us  out  a  piece 
of  angel-cake,  or  pie,  or  something  else 
good  about  ten  o'clock  every  day,'  called  out 
Lord  Archie  to  her. 

''  'Oh,  you  shall  always  have  your  "piece" 
at  ten,'  she  answered,  'I  never  forget  that!' 

"  'Thank  you!'  we  both  shouted  in  chorus. 

"  'And  there  are  three  square  meals  and 
bed  coming  to  us  besides!'  said  Lord  Glen- 
denning,  smiling  and  giving  me  a  good-na- 
tured punch,  'and  still  they  say  the  working- 
man  has  a  hard  lot!     I  think  it's  a  snap 


98  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

weVe  got — what  do  you  say,  Mr.  Pastor- 
ius?' 

^^  'It  seems  very  much  like  that  just  now,' 
I  returned,  'but  remember  all  farmers  do 
not  live  the  way  we're  living  just  now. 
Such  cooks  as  Miss  Brown  are  scarce,  for 
one  thing.  Suppose  that  toddy  and  cake 
Miss  Brown  just  brought  us  had  been  made 
by  certain  other  women  you  and  I  can  re- 
member, if  we  think  a  little.' 

''  'Too  true,  too  true,  I'll  own,'  he  ad- 
mitted, making  a  wry  face,  'don't  let's  think 
of  such  things.  Some  cooks  are  the  devil, 
and  some  women  are  the  devil,  anyhow,' 
said  he,  as  he  started  to  work  w^th  a  will, 
and  I  likewise,  for  we  both  were  anxious 
not  to  be  found  wanting  in  our  work,  he  be- 
cause he  wanted  principally  to  be  near 
Madeline,  and  I  because  I  thought  the  dol- 
lar a  day  in  my  pocket  would  come  very 
handy. 

"  'I  think  you  make  as  good  shocks  as 
John,  Mr.  Glendenning,'  I  said  to  him  when 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  99 

the  gong  at  noon-time  for  dinner  brought  us 
all  together  again  and  we  all  started  for  the 
house. 

^'  ^Thank  you,'  he  answered,  ^you  make 
me  proud!  I  feel  as  though  I  had  to,'  he 
added,  speaking  for  my  ears  alone,  ^Made- 
line told  me  that  I  had  to — that  I  must. 
She  said  Mr.  Brown  told  her  he  wasn't  go- 
ing to  stand  any  nonsense — that  I'd  got  to 
do  my  work  just  as  well  as  anybody  else,  or 
get  out — he  wouldn't  have  me  around  other- 
wise, lord  or  710  lord!  And  I  want  to  con- 
gratulate you,  Mr.  Pastorius,'  said  he,  'I 
can't  see  that  you're  far  behind  John  your- 
self. You  tie  your  sheaves  good  and  tight 
and  your  shocks  are  all  right.  Of  course, 
it's  work  for  us  and  it's  easy  for  John  to  keep 
ahead  of  us  and  do  it  a  little  better  than 
either  of  us,  because  it's  his  trade,  you 
know.' 

^'Little  did  I  think  as  we  sat  down  to  din- 
ner at  ^Sky  Farm'  that  day,  that  events  had 
already  happened  up  in   Leadville  which 


loo  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

were  full  of  significance  to  a  certain  extent 
to  all  of  us,  but  especially  to  the  family- 
circle  at  ^Sky  Farm'  and,  more  than  all 
others,  to  Lord  Glendenning  and  to 
Madeline.  That  dinner  was  the  last  that 
fair  Madeline  was  to  cook  at  'Sky  Farm,' 
and  that  morning  the  last  that  Lord  Glen- 
denning would  work  in  'Sky  Farm's'  har- 
vest-field. 

"There  were  a  couple  of  letters  for  me  by 
my  plate,  as  I  sat  down  to  the  table  at  din- 
ner. I  tore  the  one  open  first  that  I  knew 
by  a  glance  at  the  envelope,  was  from 
Philadelphia — from  my  home.  It  con- 
tained only  a  few  lines  from  one  of  the  dear 
ones  at  home,  but  it  enclosed  what  was  in- 
deed a  very  pleasant  sight  to  me  then,  a 
cheque  for  a  hundred  dollars.  'Well,  I'm 
on  my  feet  again  for  a  little  bit,'  I  said  to 
myself,  stuffing  it  in  my  pocket-book,  a 
great  burden  lifted  off  my  spirits.  Then  I 
tore  the  other  letter  open,  and  not  recogniz- 
ing the  writing  turned  to  the  signature,  and 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS         '  rdi 

behold  it  was  from  'Jack  LafargeM  And  it 
was  an  uncommonly  long  letter  at  that!  and 
stuffed  with  newspaper  clippings  besides, 
I  noticed  upon  opening  it! 

''  'Holy  smoke!'  Lord  Archibald  who  sat 
next  to  me  at  table  on  my  right,  exclaimed 
to  me  in  a  low  voice,  smiling,  as  he  looked 
at  the  large  and  well-filled  envelope,  'when 
your  best  girl  does  write,  she  writes,  don't 
she?' 

"I  smiled  at  him  for  answer,  and  then 
seeing  that  I  did  not  wish  to  talk,  he  turned 
to  his  dinner  again  with  zest. 

"But  I  ceased  to  wonder  that  Jack  had 
written  to  me  before  I  had  scanned  the  let- 
ter very  far.     It  ran  as  follows: 

Leadville,  Colo.,  July  23,  1881. 
Dear  Pete: — 

We've  had  the  most  wonderful  things 
happening  up  here  since  you  left  that  you 
ever  saw  or  heard  of!  The  city  papers  are 
full  of  it,  and  Leadville  has  talked  of  noth- 


102  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

ing  else  since  last  night,  when  these  strange 
and  wonderful  things  commenced  to  tran- 
spire. 

What  do  you  think?  The  ^'Big  Swede's^' 
Dance-Hall  is  no  more!  It's  burned  to  the 
ground!  And  that  ain't  all!  I  don't  know 
where  to  begin.  (You  can  show  this  letter 
to  Lord  Archie  but  don't  let  anyone  else 
see  it!  Though  the  whole  State's  bound  to 
know  all  in  the  end,  I  suppose.)  You  can 
give  it  to  him  if  you  like.  Let  him  speak 
about  it  to  anybody  else,  just  as  he  pleases, 
or  keep  mum.  Let  him  do  what  he  likes 
about  it,  but  let  him  know  right  ofif! 

Well,  things  commenced  to  happen  some- 
thing like  this:  Some  time  yesterday  the 
'*Big  Swede"  got  the  ^^tip"  somehow  that 
the  long-dreaded,  often-threatened  Day  of 
Reckoning  had  come  for  her  at  last!  That 
she  was  going  to  be  raided  that  night  at  ten 
o'clock.  With  crow-bars  and  axes,  the 
Marshal  and  a  posse  were  to  break  into 
the  house,  if  need  be,  and  with  rifles  and 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  103 

revolvers,  compel  all  the  dance-hall  girls 
and  gamblers  and  all  the  men  found  there — 
everybody — (including  the  ''Big  Swede" 
herself,  of  course, — she  was  to  have  been 
the  principal  victim)  to  submit  to  arrest 
and  be  taken  down  in  a  bunch,  and  locked 
up  in  the  county  jail  till  next  morning, 
when  their  cases  were  to  have  been  brought 
up  for  trial  and  sentence  before  Judge 
Coulter.  Of  course  this  was  all  the  w^ork 
of  Leadville's  new  Law  and  Order  League 
that's  purifying  the  city,  you  know. 

Well,  the  "Big  Swede,"  the  minute  she 
gets  the  "tip"  dispatches  a  messenger,  post- 
haste, to  Rhinehart,  and  up  he  comes  at 
about  midday,  running  his  horse  for  all  it 
was  worth,  and  gallops  right  up  to  the  "Big 
Swede's"  this  time,  instead  of  putting  up 
at  the  Continental  Hotel,  as  he  has  always 
done  before.  (His  gray  horse  was  drip- 
ping wath  sweat  and  covered  with  foam  as 
he  galloped  through  Leadville,  so  Rhine- 
hart  must  live  a  good  way  off,  some  people 


104  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

think  who  happened  to  see  him,  by  the 
looks  of  his  horse,  even  if  he  had  ridden  all 
the  way  like  the  wind,  like  he  came 
through  Leadville.)  Then  in  a  very 
few  minutes,  Mr.  Rhinehart  and  the 
^'Big  Swede"  were  seen  to  come  out 
of  the  house  together,  and  proceed  down 
the  hill  to  the  Catholic  Church  Rectory, 
next  to  the  Catholic  Church,  not  very 
far  you  know,  and  then  in  about  half 
an  hour  or  so,  come  out  and  go  up  to  the 
^'Big  Swede's"  again.  And  when  this  per- 
son who  had  observed  the  couple  make 
their  call  at  the  Catholic  Church  Rectory, 
feeling  very  much  interested,  and  being 
well  acquainted  with  Father  Farr,  made  a 
call  himself  pretty  soon  afterward  upon  the 
Reverend  gentleman,  and  asked  him  what 
the  couple's  business  with  him  had  been — 
(Mr.  Rhinehart's  and  the  ^^Big  Swede's") 
— lo  and  behold!  what  should  the  priest 
say,  smiling  slyly,  and  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  but — '^They  pleaded  with  me  to  marry 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  105 

them,"  says  he,  '^and  I  consented,  event- 
ually," says  he,  ''on  certain  conditions,"  says 
he,  ''and  I  did  marry  them!"  says  he.  "The 
'Big  Swede'  is  no  more!"  says  he, — "She's 
now  Mrs.  Rhinehart,  if  you  please!"  says 
he,  and  the  old  priest  chuckled. 

And  what  do  you  think,  Pete? — the  "half 
has  not  been  told,"  as  the  church  hymn  says. 
The  "boys"  soon  began  to  get  wind  of  it — 
that  Mr.  Rhinehart  had  married  the  ''Big 
Swede"  (although,  of  course,  the  general 
public  knew  nothing  of  it  as  yet) — and  the 
"boys,"  the  regular  habitues  of  the  dance- 
hall,  dropped  up  to  the  "Big  Swede's,"  at 
their  very  earliest  convenience. 

Now,  don't  think  I'm  lying,  Pete,  when 
I  tell  you  the  whole  story — it's  true!  (You 
must  read  the  newspaper  clippings  I  send 
you,  when  you  finish  this.)  What  do  you 
think!  First  one  and  then  another  of  the 
"boys"  snatched  on  to  his  favorite  dancing 
girl,  and  imitating  the  good  example  of 
Mr.  Rhinehart  and  the  "Big  Swede"  took 


io6  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

a  short  walk  down  the  hill  to  the  Catholic 
Church  Rectory,  and  were  married  by  the 
Catholic  priest! —  and  darn  me!  if  all  the 
^'Big  Swede's''  dance-hall  girls  weren't 
married  before  ten  o'clock  last  night!  If 
it  ain't  so,  Pete,  I'll  eat  me  hat!  The 
papers  are  full  of  it  this  morning,  and  all 
Leadville  is  talking  of  nothing  else!  I 
send  you  a  lot  of  clippings  out  of  the  Lead- 
ville morning  papers  so  you  won't  think 
I'm  lying.  The  Catholic  priest  has  made 
Catholics  of  the  whole  blooming  bunch, 
and  he  exacted  from  every  woman,  they  say, 
a  solemn  promise  to  hereafter  lead  a  good 
and  virtuous  life,  and  as  a  member  of  the 
Catholic  Church  to  go  to  church  every  day, 
excepting  for  sickness  or  other  good  ex- 
cuse. That  is,  they're  all  Catholics  except- 
ing the  "Big  Swede"  herself.  She  said 
she  was  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Sweden 
(which  corresponds  exactly  to  the  Church 
of  England,  it  seems),  and  the  priest  says, 
"All  right,"  says  he,  "that'll  do — but  you 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  107 

must  go  to  church  every  day  if  it's  open!" 

But  there's  more  still  to  come — don't 
think  I've  told  you  all,  for  I  haven't,  not  by 
a  jugful! 

About  half  past  nine  the  ''Big  Swede" 
commences  to  throw  her  money  around  free 
as  air  or  water!  Every  girl  in  the  house 
got  a  cheque  for  a  thousand  dollars! 
(Don't  think  I'm  lying — it's  true.) 

The  "Big  Swede"  had  eight  girls  in  her 
dance-hall,  and  there  are  eight  cheques  for 
a  thousand  dollars  each,  with  all  the  girls' 
maiden  and  married  names  all  on,  down  at 
the  bank  this  morning.  All  cashed  in  yes- 
terday afternoon. 

( Read  that  clipping  I  cut  out  of  the  Lead- 
ville  Morning  Record — I  set  that  type  up 
meself).  And  nobody  employed  about  the 
house  got  less  than  a  hundred.  Then  soon 
after  half  past  nine,  the  carriages  began  to 
stop  before  the  house  that  the  "Big  Swede" 
had  ordered  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 
And  one  by  one,  with  their  trunks  and  what 


io8  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

little  they  possessed  of  this  world's  goods 
outside  of  the  thousand-dollar  cheque  the 
''Big  Swede"  had  given  them,  the  dance- 
hall  girls  all  drove  off  with  their  life-part- 
ners— with  screams  of  laughter  from  the 
women  and  whoops  and  yells  from  the  men 
— as  if  they  were  on  the  lark  of  their  lives 
—  (and  I  guess  inost  of  them  were^  if  not 
all  of  them) .  Where  they  went  was  kept  a 
secret,  of  course,  under  the  circumstances, 
as  they  were,  very  naturally,  fearful  of  the 
Marshal  and  his  posse.  Nobody  knows 
where  they  are  now — any  of  them,  and 
won't,  I  guess,  till  it  all  blows  over,  at  any 
rate,  and  maybe  not  then.  Of  course  no- 
body believes  that  the  ''Big  Swede"  (I 
mean  Mrs.  Rhinehart)  will  ever  be  seen 
about  these  diggin's  again  for  the  remainder 
of  her  days,  or  Mr.  Rhinehart  either,  for 
that  matter,  for  they  both  settled  up  all 
their  affairs  in  this  region  in  a  hurry,  it  is 
said,  yesterday  afternoon,  old  Randall  buy- 
ing Mrs.  Rhinehart's  gold-mine,  "Treasure 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  109 

Trove,"  for  a  hundred  thousand,  they  say! 
And  when  all  had  left  the  house  except 
Rhinehart  and  the  '^Big  Swede" — (excuse 
me,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rhinehart,  I  mean)  ! — 
the  ^'Big  Swede"  (Mrs.  Rhinehart,  I 
mean)  !  hustles  all  over  the  house  with 
benzine  and  saturates  the  carpets  in  every 
room  with  her  own  fair  hands,  and  then 
puts  the  match  to  the  house  herself — up- 
stairs and  down — started  a  fire  in  every 
room  herself. 

And  so,  shortly  before  ten  o'clock — 
which  was  the  witching  hour  for  the  raid, 
you  know — Mr.  Rhinehart  and  his  wife 
(the  ''Big  Swede"  that  was,  but  the  ''Big 
Swede"  no  longer)  might  have  been  seen 
going  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  up  the  road 
in  their  buggy,  just  as  the  flames  burst  forth 
from  all  over  the  house — every  door  and 
window  was  a  seething  mass  of  flame,  they 
say,  w^hen  promptly  at  ten  o'clock  the  Mar- 
shal and  his  posse  stood  before  the  house 
with  their  crowbars  and  axes,  and  armed  to 


no  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

the  teeth,  as  they  had  feared  they  would 
have  a  fierce  battle  before  they  were 
through  with  their  work  and  the  "Big 
Swede"  and  all  her  dance-hall  girls,  and 
gamblers,  etc.,  and  the  men  found  in  the 
house  were  landed  safely  behind  the  bars  of 
the  county  jail.  (For  well  they  knew  that 
a  crowd  of  the  husky  men  of  the  mines,  who 
are  mostly  rough  and  strong  fellows,  you 
know — and  especially  dangerous  when  on 
a  spree  and  drinking  heavy — were  liable  to 
be  found  inside  that  house  almost  any 
night.) 

''What  in  h — 1!"  was  the  Marshal's  first 
exclamation,  they  say,  as  he  and  his  posse 
dashed  dramatically  upon  the  scene, 
promptly  at  ten  o'clock,  as  I've  said,  and  his 
posse  then  gathered  around  him  inquir- 
ingly, the  Marshal  and  all  of  them  aston- 
ished and  electrified  to  the  last  man  of  them 
at  the  sight  of  the  house  enveloped  in  flame, 
hardly  believing  their  eyes. 

The   Marshal   and   his   posse  were   fol- 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  in 

lowed  very  shortly  to  the  scene  by  the  fire- 
engine  (and  your  humble  servant  along 
with  it — for  I  was  half  sick  last  night  and 
laid  off  and  put  a  ^'sub."  on  my  ^^case"  at 
the  Record  Office.  So  when  the  fire-bell 
rang  I  was  out  in  a  jiffy  and  went  with 
them)  who,  after  they  saw  what  the  fire 
was,  and  after  talking  with  the  ''Big 
Swede's"  old  darkey,  who  acknowledged 
to  them  that  his  mistress  had  set  it  on  fire 
herself,  and  after  conferring  with  the  Mar- 
shal, decided,  as  the  house  stood  alone  and 
no  other  property  was  endangered,  to  just 
let  it  burn.  So,  then,  they  all  stood  around, 
along  with  a  large  crowd  which  had 
gathered,  watching  the  conflagration,  and 
stories  of  the  "Big  Swede"  were  on  every 
lip,  particularly  the  last  day's  strange  and 
startling  developments. 

"Is  anyone  inside  there?"  inquired  the 
Marshal  of  the  "Big  Swede's"  faithful  old 
darkey,  who  was  standing  by  (whom  she 
had  instructed,  it  seems,  to  stay  behind  at 


112  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

the  house,  and  answer  all  questions  and  re- 
port to  her). 

^'Nary  one!"  he  replied,  ''haw,  haw!  I 
guess  not!  eben  de  cats  an'  de  dogs,  an'  de 
parrots  an'  canaries — dey  all  is  safely  out — 
I  saw  t'  dat,  Massa." 

"Why,  what's  the  trouble?"  queried  the 
Marshal  innocently,  "where  have  they  all 
gone  so  suddenly — and  how  did  the  house 
catch  on  fire?" 

"It  jus'  kina  cort  fire  itself,"  replied  the 
old  colored  man,  glancing  around  nerv- 
ously. 

"Didn't  you  just  tell  the  Fire  Chief  a 
minute  ago,  that  the  'Big  Swede'  set  it 
on  fire  with  her  own  hand?"  inquired  the 
Marshal  severely. 

"Oh,  yes,  dat's  so,"  acknowledged  the 
darkey  then,  "so  she  did — I  reckamember 
dat  now — she  did." 

"And  where  did  you  say  they've  all 
gone?" 

"Why,  didn't  ye  see  'em  go?"  questioned 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  113 

the  darkey  of  the  Marshal  solemnly — '^dey 
made  'nuff  noise!  I'd  tink  ye'd  heerd  'em. 
It  wuz  jist  a  picnic,  I  heerd  'em  say,  dey 
wuz  goin'  on." 

^'It's  a  h — 1  of  a  strange  time  to  go  on  a 
picnic,  at  this  time  o'  night,  that's  all  I've 
got  to  say!"  the  Marshal  responded  harshly. 

At  this  moment  Judge  Coulter  walked 
up.  ''Hello,  Marshal,"  cried  he  face- 
tiously, ''where  are  you  going — hunting? — 
with  your  guns  and  your  crowbars  and 
axes,  and  all  that?" 

"Sure!"  retorted  the  Marshal  grimly, 
never  cracking  a  smile. 

"It's  a  h — 1  of  a  strange  time  to  start  on 
a  hunting  trip,  at  this  time  o'  night,"  said 
the  Judge,  smiling  quizzically,  as  he  re- 
peated, imitating  the  Marshal's  voice  and 
gestures,  the  gist  of  the  remark  the  Mar- 
shal had  just  made  to  the  old  darkey 
a  moment  before,  which  he  had  caught  as 
he  came  up. 

"Well,  you  ought  to  know.  Judge,"  re- 


114  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

turned  the  Marshal,  a  little  curtly,  though 
forcing  a  slight  smile,  ^'It's  up  to  you,  then, 
it  seems  to  me,  for  you  set  the  hour  yourself, 
you  know." 

''Well,  what  are  you  fooling  around  here 
for  now,  Marshal,"  pursued  the  Judge  quite 
seriously,  though  still  with  his  quizzical 
smile,  ''there's  nothing  to  do  now,  either 
for  you  or  for  me,  and  won't  be — this  in- 
cident is  closed."  And  as  he  ceased  his  re- 
marks, the  quizzical  smile  left  the  Judge's 
face  and  he  looked  as  serious  as  he  ever 
looked  in  his  life,  even  when  upon  the 
Bench.  For  Judge  Coulter  knew  perfectly 
well  what  he  was  talking  about,  it  seems, 
to  his  sorrow,  for  his  only  son,  Winston, 
they  say,  has  married  and  gone  off  with 
pretty  Louise,  the  French  girl, — one  of  the 
"Big  Swede's"  dance-hall  girls — and  be- 
fore leaving  home,  they  say,  the  young  fel- 
low left  a  note  for  his  father,  detailing  the 
whole  strange  story;  so  the  Judge  had  in- 
side information,  you  see.     But  the  Mar- 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  115 

shal  didn't  know  very  much  about  the  mat- 
ter just  then,  so  he  retorted: 

^'How  so?  I  may  ketch  'em  yet — I've  got 
my  warrants  for  'em,  haven't  I?" 

^'Yes,"  returned  the  Judge  tartly,  ''you've 
got  your  warrants  all  right,  I  suppose,  such 
as  they  are — but  your  warrants  are  no  good 
now,  it  happens!  Those  people  that  are 
named  on  your  warrants  don't  exist  any 
more — most  of  them !  There's  not  a  woman 
who  lived  in  that  dance-hall  that  has  the 
same  name  now  that  she  had  yesterday! 
Haven't  you  heard? — you're  dead-slow, 
Marshal,  you  are!" 

The  Marshal  drew  back  and  surveyed 
the  Judge  w^ith  incredulity  and  amazement. 

An  inspiration  seemed  to  come  to  the  old 
darkey  at  this  moment,  and  he  spoke  up 
with,  "Anyhow,  Mr.  Marshal,  whut  kin 
yu  expec'  of  peoples  whut's  jist  gotted  mar- 
ried?— don't  dey  alius  carry  on  queer?" 

''Married!"  cried  the  Marshal,  "you 
crazy  nigger,  what  d'  ye'  mean? — I   sup- 


ii6  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

pose  you'll  be  tellin'  us  next  that  the  whole 
kit  an'  crew  o'  the  women  in  this  here 
dance-hall,  the  ^Big  Swede'  and  all — have 
got  married  and  gone  off  on  their  wedding 
trips,  eh?" 

'Well,  dey  has— jist  dat!"  replied  the 
old  darkey,  adding  triumphantly,  ^'ef  ye 
doan'  want  t'  b'leeve  me,  go  an'  ask  de 
Catolick  priest  whut  married  'em — down 
in  dat  house  dere!"  and  he  pointed  very 
proudly  and  majestically  down  to  the  little 
rectory  of  the  near-by  Catholic  Church, 
that  had  certainly  seen  strange  sights  and 
doings  not  very  far  in  the  past. 

''You  can't  bluff  me  off  that  w^ay,  nig- 
ger!" retorted  the  Marshal  who,  as  you 
have  noticed,  perhaps,  Pete,  wasn't  in  the 
best  of  humor  at  the  failure  of  all  his  well- 
laid  plans  for  that  evening. 

"He's  telling  you  the  truth,  Marshal," 
spoke  up  the  Judge  quietly,  at  this  juncture, 
and  then  hurried  away,  as  if  not  wishing  to 
be  questioned  further. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  117 

'Tes,  he  is,  like  h— I!"  cried  the  Mar- 
shal, in  a  loud  and  angry  voice,  ^'whoever 
heard  of  such  a  thing! — It  can't  be!  The 
Judge  must  be  drunk  or  crazy  to-night," 
he  added  to  his  posse,  ''to  say  such  a  thing 
as  that!" 

There  was  an  outcry  from  the  crowd  at 
this  moment  as  some  of  the  timbers  of  the 
burning  building  came  crashing  down, 
throwing  up  a  cloud  of  sparks,  and  the 
Marshal  turned  round  and  watched  the 
fire. 

I  had  been  standing  some  distance  away 
when  the  Marshal  spoke,  but  hearing  his 
loud  and  angry  tones,  I  had  come  over  and 
mixed  among  the  posse  to  see  what  the 
trouble  was. 

'The  Marshal  is  a  tenderfoot,  like  you. 
Bob  (begging  your  pardon),  and  don't 
know  it  all,"  I  heard  old  Zeke  Jones,  one 
of  the  posse,  say  to  another  one  of  'em,  at 
this  juncture,  sotto  voce — "he  does  not  know 
what  Judge  Coulter  knows   and  /  know, 


ii8  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

and  all  the  old-timers  in  town  know.  (I 
speak  of  the  days  when  almost  anything  in 
the  form  of  a  woman  was  a  welcome  sight 
to  the  old  town,  filled  as  it  was  so  nearly 
exclusively  with  men.") 

''An'  it  ain't  much  better  in  that  respect 
now,"  responded  another  man,  ''every 
woman  in  town  now  is  married,  so  far  as 
I  know,"  says  he;  "so  I  don't  blame  the 
boys  so  much,"  says  he. 

"Come  along  now,  nigger!"  cried  the 
Marshal  at  this  moment,  grabbing  the  old 
colored  man  by  the  arm  as  he  spoke,  "you 
can't  bluff  me  like  that,  I  say!"  And  then 
the  Marshal  with  the  old  darkey,  and  all 
the  posse,  and  almost  the  whole  crowd,  in- 
cluding your  humble  servant,  all  descended 
the  hill  together  in  hot  haste,  and  in  a  few 
moments  we  all  stood  in  a  crowd  around 
the  priest's  house,  and  the  Marshal,  still 
holding  on  to  the  old  darkey,  went  up  on 
the  porch  and  rang  the  bell. 

Well,  Father  Farr  answered  the  ring  of 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  119 

the  door-bell  himself  at  once — (very  likely 
he  was  looking  out  the  window  at  the  time, 
and  saw  us  coming) — and  gladly  verified 
with  several  added  details,  all  the  facts  and 
circumstances  practically  as  IVe  related 
them.  And  you  never  saw  such  a  dumb- 
founded Marshal  and  posse  in  all  your  life, 
Pete!  They  simply  couldn't  believe  it, 
and  yet  they  had  to — for  the  old  priest  ab- 
solutely asserted,  in  so  many  words — and 
the  whole  crowd  heard  him,  including 
meself — that  he'd  married  the  whole  kit 
and  crew  of  those  women  in  the  ''Big 
Swede's"  dance-hall  himself — the  ''Big 
Swede"  and  all — and  that  they  were  all  now 
married  women! 

"Holy  smoke!"  was  all  the  Marshal 
could  find  breath  to  ejaculate  as  he  bid  a 
polite  good-night  to  Father  Farr,  releas- 
ing the  old  darkey's  arm  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, who  promptly,  and  with  the  proud 
step  of  vindicated  innocence,  trudged  up 
the  hill  again  to  the  burning  house,  while 


120  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

most  of  the  crowd,  including  myself,  fol- 
lowed the  Marshal  and  his  posse  back  into 
town. 

And  here's  a  good  story  I  must  tell  you, 
Pete,  before  I  close.  It  comes  through 
Winston  Coulter,  the  Judge's  son,  who  mar- 
ried pretty  Louise,  the  French  girl,  you 
know,  as  I  told  you,  so  it's  straight  goods. 
One  of  our  reporters  got  it  from  the  Judge, 
whom  he  interviewed,  but  he  promised  the 
Judge  not  to  publish  it.  It  was  in  the  let- 
ter Winston  wrote  his  father  before  his  de- 
parture. 

It  seems  that  before  the  "Big  Swede" 
(that  was),  Mrs.  Rhinehart,  that  is,  gave 
the  thousand-dollar  cheques  to  the  girls,  she 
called  them  all  together  in  the  parlor  and 
made  them  a  little  speech. 

"Girls,"  says  she,  'Tm  going  to  give 
each  of  you  a  cheque  for  a  thousand  dol- 
lars." 

"Oh,  ain't  you  a  dear!"  cried  pretty 
Louise,  who  was  standing  nearest,  before 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  121 

she  could  say  any  more,  throwing  her  arms 
around  the  ''Big  Swede's"  neck  and  kissing 
her  over  and  over  again;  and  some  of  the 
girls  screamed  for  joy,  as  women  will,  and, 
like  women  do,  some  threw  their  arms 
around  each  other  and  kissed  each  other, 
and  one  or  two  fainted  for  joy,  I  believe. 

''And  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  you  to  do, 
girls,"  the  "Big  Swede"  continued,  as  soon 
as  she  could  make  herself  heard  in  the  hub- 
bub, "but  let  me  speak  first  about  myself. 
I  want  to  say,  first  of  all,  girls,  that  I  don't 
bear  the  Law  and  Order  League  any  ill- 
will  in  this  matter  at  all,  and  I  don't  want 
any  of  you  to  feel  so,  or  say  a  word  against 
them.  They  are  all  right,  girls,  and — and 
— "  (her  voice  choked  up  a  bit  here,  they 
say,  from  her  emotion,  her  breast  heaved, 
and  she  was  otherwise  visibly  moved) 
"we're  the  ones  who  are — who  are — 
wrong — that  is,  I  mean  who  were  wrong." 
She  mastered  her  emotion  with  a  strong 
effort  and  went  on: 


122  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

"But  yet,  I  think,  my  girls,  I  am  not 
going  beyond  my  rights — even  my  legal 
rights — in  taking  this  step  to-night,"  says 
she.  "For  to  the  Marshal  and  his  posse  I 
am  still  the  'Big  Swede'  "— 

"But  you're  my  wife,  now!"  sang  out 
Rhinehart,  who,  with  some  of  the  other 
men,  was  peeping  in  the  door,  it  seems. 

(Mrs.  Rhinehart  had  strictly  enjoined  on 
her  new-made  husband  and  the  rest  of  the 
men,  that  they  must  wait  out  in  the  hall  till 
her  last  good-bye  meeting  with  her  girls 
was  over.) 

"An'  if  that  pesky  Marshal  or  any  o'  his 
pesky  posse  dare  to  lay  a  hand  on  my  wife," 
continues  Rhinehart,  fiercely,  "if  he  don't 
remove  his  paws  mighty  quick  when  I  give 
'im  the  password,  'hands  off,  scoundrel!' 
I'll  open  up  on  'im  with  both  six-shooters 
at  once! — I  will,  s'help  me — " 

"It's  all  right,  George,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Rhinehart  gently,  "now,  be  good,  George, 
and  leave  us  alone,  please,  as  you  promised. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  123 

I'll  be  with  you  in  a  very  few  minutes, 
dear!" 

Mr.  Rhinehart's  head  disappeared. 
"Let's  dance  a  jig  together,  boys,"  cried  he 
gaily  to  the  other  men,  'Vhile  we're  wait- 
ing for  the  ladies!  Play  us  a  jig.  Sambo!" 
And  in  a  moment  the  fiddle  squeaked  a  gay 
tune  and  the  men  were  all  having  a  jolly 
stag-dance  together  in  the  hall. 

"But  Mrs.  Rhinehart  has  some  rights 
that  the  'Big  Swede'  didn't  have,"  she  went 
on  seriously,  "and  so  with  you,  my  girls, 
thank  God!  You,  too,  God  has  been  very 
merciful  and  good  to,  also!  You,  too,  have 
rights  now  as  married  women,"  says  she, 
"that  you  did  not  have  before.  So  I  think 
that  you  and  I  are  well  within  our  rights," 
says  she,  "in  making  good  our  escape  to- 
night from  the  Marshal  and  his  vile  prison! 
faugh!"  (with  a  flash  of  her  blue  eyes  and 
a  gesture  of  disgust). 

"The  Marshal  can't  lick  me  nohow! 
Nol-howT  yelled    Rhinehart,    peeping   in 


124  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

the  door  again.  ''I  can  lick  the  Marshal 
with  one  hand!"  he  went  on.  He  had  been 
imbibing  rather  freely  to  celebrate  the  day, 
I  guess,  no  less  than  some  of  his  compan- 
ions among  the  new-made  Benedicts.  "I 
can  lick  'im  with  one  hand  tied  behind 
mel— I"— 

''No,  you  mustn't,  George!"  cried  Mrs. 
Rhinehart  softly.  ''George,  dear,  you 
mustn't  talk  so,  either — I  won't  have  it, 
dear!" 

"Oh,  I  mustn't,  eh?"  half  fiercely,  then 
at  once  breaking  into  a  broad  smile,  "All 
right,  my  dear.  If  you  say  I  mustn't,  I 
mustn't — I  won't  do  it  any  more.  Any- 
thing to  please  the  ladies,"  and  he  tiptoed 
into  the  room  and  kissed  his  wife,  and  then 
quickly  tiptoed  out  again.  Mrs.  Rhine- 
hart  smiled  happily  for  a  moment,  and  then 
continued  gravely  her  address  to  the  girls. 

"And  I  was  not  joking,  girls,  when  I  told 
you  I  was  going  to  burn  this  house  down  to 
the  ground  to-night! — just  as  soon  as  we 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  125 

can  conveniently  get  out  of  it!  I  have 
sworn  to  do  it!  By  the  time  the  Marshal 
gets  here,  we  shall  all  be  out  and  this  house 
will  be  a  mass  of  flame!  And  with  the  de- 
struction of  this  house,"  she  says,  passion- 
ately, flinging  up  her  arms,  her  hands 
clenched,  ''that  woman  that  I  have  been — 
that  woman  known  in  Leadville  as  the  'Big 
Swede' — dies  with  the  house  1'^ 

(Here  there  were  sundry  shrieks  from 
the  assembled  girls,  it  seems.) 

^'Oh,  don't  be  afraid — I'm  not  going  to 
commit  suicide,"  she  made  haste  to  add 
more  calmly,  "no,  not  that — though  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Mr.  Rhinehart,  girls,  I'm 
very  much  afraid  I  should  have  done  so. 
But  now  it  is  different." 

By  this  time  the  men  had  ceased  their 
dancing  and  noisy  antics  in  the  hall,  and 
there  was  dead  silence,  and  Mr.  Rhinehart 
and  some  of  the  other  men  were  peeping 
in  the  door  again. 

"As  Mrs.  Rhinehart,"  says  she  solemnly, 


126  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

and  very  deeply  moved,  '^I  am  going  to  be 
good,  girls!" 

(And  here  a  great  sob  choked  her  for  a 
few  moments.) 

^^I  am  going  to  keep  my  promise  to  the 
old  priest  religiously!"  she  says  fervently, 
after  a  pause.  ''And,  girls,"  (with  a  sup- 
pressed sob,  and  catching  her  breath)  "I 
want  you  all  to  do  the  same!  I  want  you 
all  to  be  good,  too! — " 

(And  here  the  tears  commenced  to  trickle 
down  her  cheeks  and  she  took  out  her  hand- 
kerchief and  wiped  them  away,  and  dried 
her  eyes;  but  they  kept  on  trickling,  and 
then  she  just  put  down  her  handkerchief 
and  let  them  flow.) 

'We've  got  the  chance  to  be  good  now," 
says  she,  "God  has  given  us  another 
chance! — and  the  hell  we'll  go  to  now  when 
we  die  will  be  nothing,"  says  she,  "to  what 
we'll  go  to  if  we  let  go  of  God's  hand  and 
wander  away  from  Him  again!  So  the 
old  priest  said,  and  I  believe  him!     And 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  127 

as  I  promised  him,  so  did  you!  and  he  said, 
you  know,  he  wouldn't  marry  us  without! 
And  I  want  you  all  to  keep  your  promise, 
too,  just  as  religiously  as  I  am  going  to 
keep  mine,  with  God's  help!" 

(Here  she  broke  down  at  last  completely, 
and  sobbed  loudly,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  for  a  moment — and  pretty 
Louise,  the  French  girl,  sobbed  in  sym- 
pathy, and  then  rushing  forward  again  to 
Mrs.  Rhinehart,  threw  her  arms  around 
her  again,  in  a  tempest  of  tears,  and  they 
sobbed  in  each  other's  arms  for  some  mo- 
ments; and  then  all  the  other  women  in 
the  room  seemed  to  join  in,  they  say;  and 
even  the  men  out  in  the  hall  were  most  of 
them  crying  too,  they  say,  by  this  time,  Mr. 
Rhinehart  leading  the  bunch.  The  "Big 
Swede"  had  them  all  crying,  so  the  story 
goes,  when  she  burst  out  crying,  saying  "she 
was  going  to  be  good,  and  that  they  must 
all  be  good,  too!" 

(I  believe  myself,  Pete,  that  if  Rhine- 


128  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

hart  had  failed  to  show  up  when  she  sent 
for  him  in  her  trouble,  she  would  have  com- 
mitted suicide  and  actually  died  with  the 
house  as  she  said.  It  would  have  been  just 
like  her.) 

Then  at  the  last  she  had  all  the  girls 
come  up,  one  by  one,  and  she  gave  each  girl 
her  cheque  and  kissed  each  girl  good-bye, 
and  then  the  carriages  commenced  to  stop 
at  the  door  for  the  newly  married  couples, 
as  IVe  told  you. 

And  not  more  than  half  an  hour  after 
that,  when  the  Marshal  and  his  posse  ar- 
rived on  the  scene,  the  house  was  a  mass  of 
flame,  as  she  said  it  would  be,  and  as  IVe 
told  you  before. 

By  Jiminy!  Pete — they  can  say  what  they 
like,  but  I  believe  those  fellows  got  the 
tip  somehow,  and  knew  it  d — n  well  all 
along  that  each  girl  was  going  to  get  a 
thousand  dollars,  or  they  wouldn't  have 
been  so  d — n  quick  to  marry  them!  Don't 
you    think   so,   yourself?      Why,   by  Jim! 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  129 

some  of  them  couldn't  have  done  it,  Pete, 
if  they  had  wanted  to  ever  so  much,  I  don't 
believe — I  have  my  d — n  doubts  that  more 
than  one  or  two  of  them  had  the  "spon- 
dulix"  of  their  own  to  get  married  on  and 
take  a  wedding  trip.  But  the  thousand- 
dollar  cheque  made  it  all  possible  you  see, 
Pete,  and  they  caught  the  fever  from  Rhine- 
hart,  I  suppose,  who's  a  dev'lish  fine-look- 
ing man,  as  I've  told  you,  and  a  rich  man 
at  that,  so  they  say.  So  they  followed  suit 
on  his  lead,  and  the  ''Big  Swede's"  whole 
bunch  of  dance-hall  gossamer  went  ofif  like 
hot  cakes,  and  gave  Leadville  the  biggest 
sensation  she  ever  had,  I  guess!  and  there 
won't  never  be  another  one  to  equal  it,  I 
don't  believe! 

Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  for  a 
piece  of  news,  Pete?  Ain't  it  a  corker? 
You  bet  your  boots!  But  there's  a  little 
more  besides  that  I  almost  forgot — there's 
fifty  thousand  dollars  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tain    Bank    of     Leadville,     in     Madeline 


I30  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

Brown's  name,  and  subject  to  her  will  and 
pleasure  now  at  any  time,  so  the  bank 
people  say  in  a  little  advertisement  in  all 
the  morning  papers,  a  copy  of  which  IVe 
sent  you. 
Well,  I  guess  that's  all,  Pete,  Good-bye! 
Yours  truly. 

Jack  Lafarge. 

P.  S.  But  I  find  another  reporter's  note 
in  my  pocket,  that  I  got  hold  of,  which  we 
are  going  to  publish  in  the  Record,  to-mor- 
row, I  think. 

To  the  priest  who  married  them,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Rhinehart  said  Madeline  Brown 
was  their  daughter,  and  they've  had  a 
lawyer  draw  up  a  legal  paper  to  that  effect, 
(which  the  lawyer  is  to  get  to  Madeline) 
and  which  reads  as  follows,  (according  to 
one  of  our  reporters  who  interviewed  the 
lawyer)  : 

^'Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rhinehart  do  now 
solemnly  acknowledge  and  affirm,  that  one 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  131 

Madeline  ^Brown'  so-called — is,  actually 
and  truly,  their  bona-fide  and  legal  be- 
loved child  and  daughter,  by  a  run-away 
marriage  years  ago,  and  that  her  true  and 
legal  name  is  Madeline  Rhinehart;  and 
that  should  said  Madeline  Rhinehart  now, 
or  at  any  future  time,  ever  so  desire,  she 
will  be  sure  of  a  daughter's  welcome,  and 
to  share  in  all  and  every  her  said  rights  as 
our  said  beloved  legal  child  and  daughter. 
And  said  Madeline  Rhinehart  can  come 
into  communication  with  us  now,  or  at  any 
future  time,  by  calling  upon  or  addressing: 
^Rev.  Father  Farr,  Leadville,  Colorado.' 
(Signed) 
''Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  Harry  Rhinehart.'' 

And  Rhinehart,  our  reporter  says,  de- 
livered himself  further  to  this  lawyer,  in 
answer  to  a  question,  of  the  following  very 
significant  remark:  ''What!  that  d — d 
and  perjured  scoundrel!"  (referring,  the 
lawyer  says,  to  the  man  who,  it  seems, 
broke    off   his    engagement   to    marry   the 


132  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

''Big  Swede"  (Mrs.  Rhinehart,  I  mean 
after  her  father  had  lost  his  fortune 
down  in  Denver  years  ago,)  "No,  Never! 
And  I  want  to  undo  a  great  wrong  as  far 
as  I  can,  do  ye  see?  So  I've  married  my 
wife  over  again,  and  I  want  you  to  make 
Madeline  and  the  w^hole  world  acquainted 
with  the  fact  that  she  is  our  legal  daughter, 
so  that  she  can  be  perfectly  free  to  come 
and  live  with  us  if  she  wants  to,  or  write 
to  us  for  help,  or  money,  or  anything,  you 
know." 

So  her  right  name's  Madeline  Rhinehart 
now,  you  see ;  and  always  was,  according  to 
Rhinehart's  statement. 

J.  L. 

'^Had  I  felt  like  doubting  Lafarge's  let- 
ter, the  newspaper  clippings  enclosed  were 
verification  complete  of  all  that  he  had 
written.  I  skimmed  over  the  letter  and 
clippings  as  hastily  as  I  could,  taking  a 
mouthful  of  dinner  now  and  then. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  133 

''  'You  better  eat  your  dinner,  Pastorius,' 
said  Mr.  Brown,  'is  that  letter  from  your 
girl?' 

"I  smiled  but  said  nothing,  and  as  soon 
as  I  got  a  chance  turned  to  Lord  Glenden- 
ning,  and  said  in  a  low  voice:  'Mr.  Glen- 
denning,  I  want  you  to  read  this  letter  of 
Lafarge's — skim  over  it,  right  away,  it  will 
interest  you.' 

"  'I'll  read  it  to-night,'  he  said,  'when  we 
get  done  our  work.' 

"  'No,'  I  insisted  earnestly,  'I  wish  you 
would  read  it  now — right  away,  Mr.  Glen- 
denning.' 

"He  gave  a  little  start  and  looked  at  me 
very  much  surprised. 

"  'I  know  you  ought  to,  you  see,  Mr. 
Glendenning — it  is  very  important  that  you 
should,  I  think,  and  so  I  won't  let  you  off. 
Read  it  now,  please.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
you  will  not  regret  it.' 

"He  saw  that  I  was  intensely  in  earnest, 
— though   he  could   not  understand  it,   of 


134  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

course, — so  he  took  the  bulky  envelope 
from  my  extended  hand  at  once. 

^'  'I  make  you  a  present  of  it,  Mr.  Glen- 
denning,  newspaper  clippings  and  all,'  said 
I — Vhat  you  don't  like  you  can  burn  up. 
I  think  Lafarge  would  have  wTitten  to  you 
instead  of  to  me,  anyhow,  had  he  dared. 
It  concerns  you  more  than  me — it  concerns 
Madeline  and  you  more  than  anybody  else. 
Lafarge  never  wrote  to  me  in  his  life  be- 
fore, and  he  told  me  to  show  the  letter  to 
you — he  wants  you  to  know,  that's  it — I'm 
just  the  ^'go-between"  you  see.  So  take  it 
and  keep  it  and  welcome.' 

"'Thank  you!'  replied  he,  in  a  mystified 
way,  'and  please  thank  Lafarge  for  me 
when  you  see  him,  for  the  favor.' 

"He  was  reading  the  letter  by  this  time. 
Of  course,  almost  from  the  first  words,  his 
interest  was  intense,  and  he  fairly  flew  over 
it  to  the  end. 

"When  he  had  ended  there  was  no  one 
in  the  room  but  Madeline,  himself  and  me. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  135 

the  rest  of  the  family-circle  were  on  the 
cool  porch  taking  their  noon  siesta,  and 
Madeline  was  clearing  off  the  table. 

''  'Most  remarkable!  Most  remarkable!' 
he  ejaculated,  glancing  first  at  one  and  then 
another  of  the  newspaper  clippings,  as  he 
spoke,  'I  may  keep  the  letter  and  all,  you 
say?     I  want  to  show  it  to  Madeline.' 

"  'Yes,  certainly,  that's  what  I  said,'  I 
returned,  'it  is  yours — do  what  you  please 
with  it.  Excuse  me.  I  will  leave  you  to- 
gether— I  will  go  out  and  take  a  snooze  on 
the  grass  under  the  trees.' 

"So  while  the  rest  of  the  household  were 
taking  their  noon-hour  siesta  outside.  Lord 
Glendenning  and  Madeline  were  having 
the  confab  of  their  lives  over  the  contents 
of  Lafarge's  letter.  And  as  the  rest  of  us 
started  out  for  the  wheat-field  again,  and 
Mr.  Brown,  Sr.,  re-entered  the  house,  some- 
thing like  this,  I  gathered  afterwards,  took 
place: 

"  'Mr.  Brown,'  said  Lord  Glendenning, 


136  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

'Madeline  has  consented  at  last  to  be  my 
wife.' 

'^  Well,  I  swan!'  ejaculated  Mrs.  Brown 
from  the  next  room. 

''Miss  Brown,  who  was  with  her  mother, 
gave  a  little  scream.  'If  I  ever!'  she 
articulated  faintly,  sinking  into  a  chair. 

"  'Ain't  this  here  rather  sudden?'  in- 
quired Mr.  Brow^n,  as  soon  as  he  could  get 
breath  to  speak  at  all — he  was  well-nigh 
speechless. 

"  'No,  I  don't  think  so,'  replied  Lord 
Glendenning,  who  was  evidently  laboring 
under  considerable  excitement  himself. 
Then  he  went  on  hurriedly,  'and  we  have 
decided,  if  you  and  Mrs.  Brown  will  kindly 
give  us  your  permission  and  your  blessing, 
that  we  will  both  pack  our  trunks  forthwith 
and  go  up  on  the  evening  train  to  Leadville, 
get  married  at  once,  and  then  go  to  my 
Leadville  lodgings  or  to  a  hotel  for  the 
night,  and  in  the  morning  start  off  on  our 
wedding-trip.' 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  137 

^'  Where  are  you  going  on  your  wed- 
ding-trip— and  where  will  you  live?'  in- 
quired the  old  man,  dumbfounded,  and  his 
wife  and  daughter  here  came  into  the  room, 
and  gazed  in  speechless  amazement  at  the 
young  Englishman  and  Madeline,  as  the 
hopeful  young  couple  stood  there  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  together,  Lord  Archie's 
protecting  arm  about  pretty  Madeline's 
waist. 

^'  'Oh,  we  will  go  straight  to  London, 
England,  my  home,  just  as  soon  as  we  are 
married,  and  live  there,'  returned  the 
young  man  smiling. 

'^  'Now  for  our  trunks  at  once,  darling!' 
he  added  to  Madeline.  'We  shall  have  to 
hurry  to  catch  that  train.'  And  they  both 
hastened  out  of  the  room  and  upstairs. 

''  'Say,  darling,  what  are  you  going  to 
do  with  your  fifty  thousand  dollars?'  in- 
quired Lord  Archie  of  Madeline,  as  they 
were  packing  their  trunks  together,  while 
young  Mr.  Brown,  John  and  myself  were 


138  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

toiling     away    in     the     hot     harvest-field. 

'^  ^That  money F  exclaimed  Madeline 
passionately,  looking  at  him  horrified  and 
all  in  a  tremble  of  excitement  at  once,  'I 
won't  touch  a  penny  of  it!  Don't  you  be- 
lieve I  will,  Archie  Glendenning!  I  tell 
you  I  won't  touch  a  penny  of  it!'  and  the 
agitated  girl  covered  her  horrified  face 
with  her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  'Never  mind,  Madeline  dear!'  returned 
Lord  Archie  gently,  and  quickly  going  up 
to  her,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  stroked 
her  hair  tenderly,  and  kissed  her  quivering 
lips.  'You  don't  have  to,  if  you  don't  ivant 
to,  sweet,  I  have  enough  without.  And  I 
love  you  all  the  better,  darling,  because  you 
feel  that  way  about  it!  We'll  give  it  to 
some  church,  sweetheart,  or  anything  you 
like!' 

"(And  not  many  years  after  this  conver- 
sation between  Lord  Glendenning  and 
Madeline,  the  passer  by  that  old  lot  on  the 
hillside,    on    the    outskirts    of    Leadville, 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  139 

where  the  'Big  Swede's'  dance-hall  had  once 
stood,  might  have  noticed  quite  a  pre- 
tentious building  which  stood  thereon,  the 
sign  upon  which  read:  'The  Madeline 
Brown  Mission.') 

"In  conclusion  let  me  say,  that  after  Lord 
Glendenning  and  Madeline  were  married 
—  (which  happy  event  was  accomplished 
very  quietly  by  them  on  account  of  the 
great  notoriety  into  which  they  were  thrown 
by  the  sensational  developments  I  have  re- 
lated— the  marriage  taking  place  as  soon 
as  they  arrived  in  Leadville  on  the  evening 
train  from City  of  the  night  in  ques- 
tion, at  the  Episcopal  Church  of  the  Holy 
Name,  of  which  the  young  Englishman  w^as 
a  member,  and  the  young  English  Curate 
of  which  was  an  intimate  personal  friend 
of  his  whom  he  had  known  in  England — 
the  marriage  being  witnessed  only  by  the 
ladies  of  the  Rectory) — the  happy  couple 
repaired  for  the  night  to  the  groom's  old 
bachelor  lodgings,  and  after  spending  most 


I40  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

of  the  night  in  hurried  preparations  for  de- 
parture on  the  morrow,  they  boarded,  early 
in  the  morning,  one  of  the  fast  transcon- 
tinental ^flyers',  on  which  they  speeded  out 
of  Leadville  forever  as  they  ate  their  break- 
fast, headed  straight  for  London,  England, 
their  cabins  on  one  of  the  great  Cunard 
ocean-line  steamships  from  New  York  all 
engaged. 

'When  they  arrived  in  London,  I  might 
add,  he  introduced  his  beautiful  wife  to  his 
mother  and  sisters,  and  it  is  needless  to  say 
they  were  all  delighted  with  her,  and  no- 
body is  more  highly  esteemed  in  London 
to-day,  in  the  aristocratic  circles  in  which 
they  move,  than  beautiful  Madeline,  Lady 
Glendenning,  and  she  lives  very  happily,  I 
have  been  told,  in  a  handsome  house  in 
Sandringham  Terrace,  the  pride  and  best- 
beloved  still  of  her  husband,  and  much  be- 
loved also  by  the  poor  and  unfortunate,  to 
whom  she  is  very  kind." 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  141 

''Oh,  well,  why  stop?"  cried  Cap.,  ''go 
on,  Pete,  go  on!"  And  Johnson  and  Mug- 
gins both  insisted  in  chorus  that  Pete 
"keep  it  up" — they  "weren't  a  bit  tired." 

"Keep  a-goin',"  cried  Johnson,  "keep  a- 
goin'!" 

"Yes,  keep  the  ball  a-rollin',  Pete!"  cried 
Muggins. 

"But  that's  the  end  of  the  story,"  de- 
clared Pete,  puffing  away  on  his  pipe. 


CHAPTER  III 

WHICH  DETAILS  THE  DOINGS  OF  THE  THIRD 
NIGHT,  WHICH,  BECAUSE  IT  IS  SUNDAY,  THEY 
DEVOTE  TO  LETTER- WRITING,  AND  NO  STORIES 
ARE  TOLD. 

''This  is  Sunday  night,  boys,"  said  Cap. 
reflectively  to  his  companions,  as  they  were 
all  sitting  as  usual  in  the  evening  around 
the  little  table,  with  the  jug  and  glasses, 
pipes  and  tobacco  in  the  center  of  it,  ''and 
we  haven't  done  a  cussed  thing  different 
(excuse  me,  gentlemen)  I  mean,  a  'blessed' 
thing  different  from  w^hat  we  always  do 
every  other  day.  Johnson  took  his  gun 
and  started  out  hunting,  as  usual,  just  as 
innocent." 

"I'll  be  doggoned  ef  I  knew  'twas  Sun- 
day!" put  in  Johnson. 

"Of  course  not!  who  said  you  did?"  re- 
plied Cap.,  "I  didn't  myself.  And  Mug- 
142 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  143 

gins  also  started  out  hunting,  in  another 
direction." 

"I'll  take  my  oath,  I  didn't  know  it  was 
Sunday!"  asserted  Muggins. 

''Of  course  not! — And  Pete  went  fishing 
as  usual,"  continued  Cap.  quizzically,  ''and 
caught  a  rather  unusually  big  mess  of  trout 
I  thought  I  heard  him  say." 

"I'll  have  to  own  up  too,"  cried  Pete, 
"that  I  never  once  thought  of  it's  being 
Sunday!" 

"Of  course  not,  of  course  not! — Johnson, 
did  you  shoot  anything?"  he  inquired, 
turning  to  the  old  hunter  abruptly. 

"Ye  say  ye  saw  me  start  out  with  me 
gun,"  replied  Johnson  sententiously. 

"Ah,  I  understand,"  said  Cap.,  smiling 
good-humoredly,  "excuse  the  innuendo, 
Johnson.  Now  with  Muggins  it  is  some- 
what different.  Muggins,  I'll  bet  fifty  dol- 
lars you  didn't  shoot  a  thing!" 

"Take  him  up  Muggins! — By  Jim,  he's 
got  you  there.  Cap!"  cried  Pete,  "he  shot 


144  LOG-CABIN  YARNS 

a  rabbit! — didn't  you  see  it  hanging  outside 
on  the  cabin  when  you  came  in?" 

'Tou  bet  I'll  take  him  up!  You  hold 
the  stakes,  Pete,  till  I  prove  up!"  He  took 
out  his  cheque-book  and  commenced  writ- 
ing. 

^Tll  take  it  all  back!"  cried  Cap.  laugh- 
ing heartily,  ^'I  never  bet  on  Sunday  night!" 

They  all  had  a  good  laugh  at  that.  'Til 
remember  that  next  time,"  cried  Muggins, 
''but  I'll  bet  you  won't.  Cap. !— (It  beats  all 
how  virtuous  Cap.  is  gettin'  t'  be  nowa- 
days," he  continued  in  a  stage-whisper  to 
Johnson,  ''he  don't  bet  on  Sunday  night, 
just  think  o'  that!") 

"What  I  started  out  to  say  was,"  said 
Cap.  soberly,  "that,  as  it  is  Sunday  night, 
I  suggest  that  we  have  a  different  program 
to-night.  I  suggest  that  we  all  write  letters 
home  to  our  wives.  And  Pete  can  write  to 
his  sweetheart." 

"I'll  write  to  my  mother,"  said  Pete 
simply. 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  145 

And  then,  like  four  souls  with  but  a 
single  thought,  the  four  men,  without  any 
more  words  whatever,  hunted  up  pen,  ink 
and  paper,  and  soon  were  all  silently 
scratching  away  around  the  table  as  though 
their  lives  depended  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  IV 

CONCLUSION 

The  next  morning  Pete  took  a  horse  and 
rode  down  to  Lyons  to  post  the  letters  and 
get  the  mail,  and  he  brought  back  a  letter 
for  Cap.  which  ended  Cap.'s  hunting  and 
fishing  trip  in  a  hurry. 

His  wife  was  sick  and  begged  him  to 
come  home  at  once. 

"But  you  fellows  must  stay  your  time 
out,"  he  said  to  Muggins  and  Johnson, 
"don't  mind  me!" 

But  they  both  insisted  that  it  was  impos- 
sible. If  one  went  they  must  all  go,  they 
both  agreed. 

So  the  three  men  waited  no  longer  than 

to  get  out  in  the  woods,  piloted  by  Johnson, 

and  secure  each  his  promised  deer,  which 

the  old  hunter  had  carefully  hung  up  each 
146 


LOG-CABIN  YARNS  147 

in  a  tree  near  where  he  had  shot  it,  to  be 
safe  from  wild  animals.  Then  the  caval- 
cade of  three  horsemen,  each  horse  carry- 
ing a  deer  besides,  struck  the  trail  for 
Longmont,  and  Pete  was  alone  again. 


FINIS 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


